No Second Thoughts
by paisleygirl
Summary: Christine is afraid of the Phantom after the murder of Buquet. She flees to the roof with Raoul, but is that what she really wants? Can Erik see past this betrayal?
1. Chapter 1

As I stood on the other side of the door, singing promises to Raoul, I remembered the rose. The dark one (I just couldn't think of him as an Angel right now) had given it to me, and I had left it carelessly on the roof. My better judgment told me I should retrieve it, that he would know I did not have it. Then I remembered the reason I had fled to the roof in the first place. He had killed that man, taken someone's life because his wishes had not been obeyed. The thought made me shiver, I had been so close to him, and I myself had disobeyed his wishes and angered him greatly.

The gentle pull on my hand told me Raoul was ready to continue down the stairs, but I wasn't ready, I had to go back. He wouldn't want me to. He would say it was just a silly flower. But I knew it was given as more than that, and I had received it as more than that.

There was still pandemonium below, and I could hear so many people shouting. As I heard someone yell out for Raoul an idea came to me. "I am not ready just yet. I need a little more time, but you are needed down there, you must go help." I did not remind him of his role as a patron, sure he was aware of it, and I hoped his sense of duty would give me the moment I needed alone. I felt guilty that it worked. I know who I had learned this deceit from, and I was not proud of it.

Once Raoul was on the second set of stairs I turned to the door, thinking about being here just a few minutes ago. It had all happened so fast, it seemed like one minute I was on the stage and the next I was pledging myself to Raoul. But in between there had been a moment where I remembered how my soul had soared at the sound of his voice. I braced myself for the blast of cold air and opened the door.

The blurry shape startled me, and for a moment I was confused. No one had come up, we were right on the other side of the door. And no one had been here while we were. My confusion evaporated the moment I saw the rose. It was him, and he was running for the edge of the roof. Was he running away from me?

Then I heard his voice, clear and strong and loud. _You will curse the day you did not do…all that the phantom asked of you._ He didn't know I was here! Did I have time to go before he turned and saw me? Would he hear the door? Should I hide? I ducked behind the closest statue, my mind was racing and my heart was beating so fast. Facing him was not an option; he had just killed a man for nothing. What would he do to me because I had left the rose? Before I had even finished the thought my heart went cold. He wasn't mad about the rose, he had been here watching us. Oh my God! I shuddered as I remembered the sight of the flower, it had been destroyed, the petals torn and crushed on the snow. I felt like I couldn't breathe, or was I afraid to breathe because he might hear me?

He would see this as a betrayal. Well, it was a betrayal, but what would he do? When he found me here, and I had no doubt that he would, what would he do? I closed my eyes tightly and prayed silently. A moment later, but much too soon, I heard him. He was taking ragged gasps of air, breathing a little too heavy for having run such a short distance. His footsteps were coming closer; he was walking towards the rose. The footfalls stopped, but I could hear his cloak swishing in the wind, or maybe on the ground. I tried to regulate my own breathing, sure that if I could hear his cloak, he would be able to hear me.

I heard a sharp intake of breath, and closed my eyes even tighter, knowing it was too late to pray anymore. "I know you're here," he said, it sounded like a growl, the horrible voice he had used to call me those vicious names. So different it was from his song, far from making my soul soar. I felt so helpless and stupid for asking Raoul to go without me.

Before I opened my eyes I knew he was there. He hadn't made a sound, but I could somehow sense him. Since I was crouching he towered over me and it was very intimidating. I stood slowly, keeping my hand on the statue for support. The silence was very awkward, but I couldn't have spoken even if I did have something to say…what was there to say anyways? He was my teacher, and had been a friend of sorts, someone I would turn to for comfort, but now he was a murderer. His gaze was searing, and I held it for as long as I could, which wasn't long at all.

As soon as I broke the gaze he turned away, towards the door. He hadn't said anything to me, no explanation for Buquet…nothing. He took a few steps…"Wait!" The sound of my own voice startled me. I don't even now why I called out; I had nothing to say to him. He turned and stared at me again, his jaw rigid, his eyes almost glowing. I opened my mouth, needing to fill the silence, but absolutely nothing useful came to mind.

He exhaled loudly and shook his head slightly before leaning towards me. At the risk of being rude, I leaned away. "No second thoughts, Christine." His voice was like ice, and I shivered involuntarily. In an exquisite movement he turned with a flourish of his cloak and left through the door. I slid down the statue because my legs felt weak, and despite the cold I suddenly felt very warm.

I had no idea how long I sat there. My shoes and cloak were wet through, and my fingers were numb. I wanted to figure out what had just happened before I went in and joined the mayhem, where I wouldn't be able to think. But no matter how many times I played the scene over in my mind, it made no sense at all. What had he meant by that? He had seemed…disappointed, but by what?

I heard Raoul calling my name as he came up the stairs. I stood and tapped my feet up and down to get the blood flowing again. As he came through the door I turned to look at the rose. I couldn't help the gasp of surprise. All of the petals were gone, as was the black ribbon from the stem.

I let Raoul lead me downstairs and to the dormitories, but I didn't let him kiss me goodbye. He was a little upset, but I told him my head was throbbing from all of the excitement today. My head actually felt fine, except for the jumble of thoughts I couldn't sort out. It was the second time I had deceived him in as many hours, but I didn't feel nearly as guilty this time. That thought would have to go to the bottom of the pile for now.

Once inside I readied myself for bed, and climbed in, anxious to close everything out and wake up refreshed. But sleep did not come right away even though I felt exhausted from this day. I tossed and turned, unable to rid myself of his words and the image of the flower, first broken, then gone. When I was younger and had trouble sleeping he would somehow know and sing the sweetest lullabies until I was able to doze off. But that hadn't happened in a long time. Probably because I can barely remember the last time I had this much trouble falling asleep. I closed my eyes tightly to fight off the reason I knew was about to surface. It didn't work, and now all I could think was how safe I usually felt because I knew he was somewhere close.

I woke with a start. My hands were clammy and my blanket was twisted around my legs. I looked around, still hazy with sleep, for the glowing eyes that had featured so prominently in my dream. It hadn't been a nightmare exactly, and the details were already starting to fade, but I had been searching for something. Everywhere I went the eyes had been there, large and stormy with a soft, safe glow. I couldn't remember what I had been looking for, and I laid my head back on the pillow. It was still dark outside so I probably had a few more hours to sleep.

When I woke I did not feel refreshed, but something occurred to me, a revelation of sorts. I had called for him to wait because I wanted him to say something. I had, at that moment, been unable to bear the thought of him leaving without saying anything to me. What did I hope he would say? Another thought came right on its heels. He had been disappointed because I hadn't spoken either. I had called him back but said nothing. Our entire relationship, until very recently, had been solely based on words.

That was ridiculous though. He was a violent man, a murderer even. What could I have wanted him to say so badly that I pushed my fear aside and called out to him? And what could he expect from me? He had thrown me to the floor and cursed at me, calling me names. He had been upset, but is that any excuse for violence? And what of murder, where could there possibly be an excuse for that?

I had to stop dwelling on it. It would drive me crazy. Why did I feel it necessary to understand the mind of a mad man? My mind probably wasn't much better at the moment. It was like a box of puzzle pieces dumped on a table, waiting for someone to put them together into a coherent picture. I guess my revelation a moment ago was like a few of the pieces fitting together, but there was so much more to go and at the moment I had no time for games.

Not surprisingly, rehearsals ended sooner than usual. Nobody could focus after the events of last night. I kept hearing snippets of conversation, gossip mostly, but they all had one thing in common. Everyone seemed to think Buquet deserved what happened to him, that it was only a matter of time. I know he was creepy, and Madam Giry had told us to stay away from him, but was that it? Could that be a good enough reason to kill someone? I could actually seek a little help with this particular piece of the puzzle. I would find Mme. Giry and ask her. She had been like a mother to me, and she would help me understand if she could.

Once I found her, she had been more than happy to sit and talk with me over tea. She told me about the things Buquet had done in relation to us, to all of the girls. She also told me of his sloppy job performance, and outrageous drinking habits, and his obsession with catching the famous opera ghost. Then she told me about him, the dark one. About how she had found him, and what he had suffered. She didn't know about his life before the gypsies, or she wasn't telling. And there were times, she thought when he was absent from the opera house over the years, but she couldn't, or wouldn't, elaborate on those either.


	2. Chapter 2

ERIK

Maybe killing him had been a mistake. I have been watching him try to follow me, pathetic attempts really, he is nothing more than a letch and a drunk. And I have seen him spy on the girls, disgusting creature that he is, but I saw him watching her, leering at her…and she is off limits, she is mine. I might have been able to let him off with a warning, a physical, painful warning, but then he came at me, what else could I do? But it is possible I went too far. I had only meant to embarrass Carlotta and show those simpletons what would happen if they didn't start heeding my warnings, and do as I command. I had said a disaster would occur, but for those morons refunding a full house was a tragedy.

Once the panic dies down a little they'll come looking for me. They won't find me, but they will look all night. I headed for the roof, away from the screams, and towards some much needed fresh air. I went for my favorite statue, a rearing, winged horse, perfect in its form and apparently defying capture. I wanted to think about her, not that smelly beast of I man. She had looked beautiful tonight, though she had been dressed as a boy, but she should have been the one singing. Now they would understand what I was capable of, and maybe Christine would be singing a lot more often. Why wouldn't they just listen? She had been scared tonight. I wish I could erase the memory of her face as she saw the corpse. It was a painful reminder of the look she wore when she had removed my mask. But I suppose that was pretty much the same as looking at a corpse.

Damn! I hid behind the statue as I heard the door. Then I heard her voice, but it wasn't the sweet, lovely voice I was used to. It was a high, frightened, frantic voice, and then him, that arrogant, insolent fool. She was afraid, and she had turned to him. The thought was painful. I was the one she sought comfort from, but then I remembered it was me she was afraid of. Okay, killing him had definitely been a mistake.

She still had the rose I had given her. Such a perfect flower, it symbolized both her perfection and my love for her. She was walking this way; I could hear the light crunch of snow beneath her delicate feet. Oh how I love to hear her sing. I closed my eyes and listened with rapture to her sing those words about me. "_His voice filled my spirit with a strange, sweet sound. In that night there was music in my mind. And through music my soul began to soar! And I heard as I'd never heard before, yet in his eyes, all the sadness of the world. Those pleading eyes that both threaten and adore…" _

But then him! _No more talk of darkness…_what the hell did he know of darkness? The fury was building as I listened to him sing to her. Of course nothing could harm her, but not because of you. You will be cowering in front of me, begging for your life before too long. His words would warm and calm her? That is my honor, it had been my joy for years. Where had he been then? Did he think he would guard her and guide her from me? She might be a little frightened right now, but she knew me, knew I would always be here for her. She knew I would never hurt her. Well, maybe she was still a little frightened about that too, but I would seek her forgiveness and all would be well again…if he ever shut up.

"_Say you'll love me every waking moment" _No! No! No!That can't be her. She wouldn't be saying that to him. Her words pull me and paralyze me at the same time. I have to look, it can't be true. But it is true.

Don't touch her! Christine, don't let him say these things to you, don't let him hold you. But I knew she wanted this. Everything about her said she wanted this, her sweet voice, the way she was looking at him, the way she moved towards him. My heartbeat is slowing as if to stop. What else is there to live for but her? And she wanted him. But my heart wouldn't stop beating, I wasn't that lucky. It would continue to slowly break into pieces. Pain, like the lash of a whip, again and again.

"_All I want is freedom, a world with no more night…"_ Freedom from me…a world without me is what she wants. So swiftly was I wounded, moments ago I had rejoiced at the very sound of her, and now that sound pierced me like an arrow. But it was cupid's arrow, bringing with it both pain and love, the most unwelcome of pairings. Now she was kissing him, my sweetest of angels, and she was lost to me. I could taste the sharp saltiness of tears on my lips as I watched them go.

Why did everything have to change? Why had those two idiots, who had no idea who or what they were dealing with, taken over my opera house? Why had they brought him in with them; that damn pretty boy from her past? Why couldn't they just listen? If they had I would not have killed that thieving wretch and she would not be here, giving her heart to him. Killing him wouldn't be difficult, per se, but there would be strings attached, he was a Viscount after all.

The rose was lying in the snow, perfect and unwanted. I went to it, was drawn to it really, she had been holding this token of my love as she sang those precious words about me. I picked it up very gently, wanting to preserve its perfection for as long as possible. _"I gave you my music, made your song take wing…and now, how you've repaid me, denied me and betrayed me…He was bound to love you, when he heard you sing…Christine"_ Only you are capable of bringing me to tears.

The sound of them singing to one another on the other side of the door brought the sharpest pain yet, and without thinking I crushed the flower. I milled the graceful petals between my fingers until they were destroyed. The anger was acute…everyone would pay for her betrayal. Surges of hatred came at me in waves and assuaged my grief. I ran to the statue at the far edge of the roof and yelled my warning into the night.

I didn't feel much better from my outburst, there was an emptiness now, a sense of loss I should be used to but wasn't. Her betrayal still stung and the sight of the ravaged petals didn't help. All of my hopes had died on this very spot, as had the rose. I couldn't leave them here like this, I gathered them tenderly, though no more damage could be done to them, and untied the black ribbon from the stem. The scent was strong in the air, released when I crushed the petals. But though it was flowery, it wasn't the rose. It was her. I turned to look, and saw nothing but statues and snow. She must be hiding from me. This thought brought more anger than pain.

I couldn't see myself as even her teacher anymore. The months of careful planning meant nothing. She didn't love me, and I couldn't be her friend, her second choice. She was hiding because she did not want to see me. I could leave and pretend I don't know she's here, but why make it that easy on her. She had betrayed me, and now she needed to face me.

"I know you're here." My voice was raw with emotion. She didn't show herself, but finding her was easy enough, her footprints were in the snow. She was crouching; God how I wished it was the Viscount on the ground at my feet. She stood, but had nothing to say to me. She couldn't even look at me for long, she lowered her gaze, and it was no easy task to restrain myself from grabbing her and shaking some sense into her. I better go now, before I do something else tonight that I will regret.

"Wait!" She called, a sort of desperation in her voice. She opened her mouth to speak but then closed it again. After all these years she had nothing to say to me. I leaned closer to her, and not surprisingly now, she leaned away. "No second thoughts, Christine." My voice reflected the chill in my heart. My anger was keeping the hurt at bay long enough for me to tell her I wouldn't be a second choice. She couldn't have him and still turn to me.

The return to my dungeon took longer than usual. I had to be careful with so many on the lookout for me. I knew they wouldn't catch me, but I didn't want anyone to glimpse or even hear me. The tunnels were mine alone to navigate. Maybe I had made my second mistake tonight. Maybe I could still have her in my life knowing her heart belonged to him, but by the time I docked the boat I knew that wasn't possible. My nature was not a forgiving one. I couldn't pretend to love her less to make her happy, and that is what I would have to do if I were to see her like I used to.

Actually, the whole thing seemed like a mistake. That night too, as wonderful as it had been for a time, hadn't ended well either. I was always meant to remain unseen. I had known that all my life. I had taken a chance and it had failed miserably. Once again, I only had music as a companion. What had made me stop at the sound of her cries all those years ago? I curse that day now. Oblivion would surely be better than this…this hollowness…this ache. Would it though? Would never having known her be better?

Her presence lingered here. In every corner there was a reminder, and forget sleeping in my bed, it still smelled of her. Some tokens brought back the anger, like the figure of her on the stage from her debut performance. That was my doing. I had developed her voice, trained it to near perfection and I had engineered the opportunity for her to take her rightful place as diva of the Opera Populaire. She had betrayed me in both things. But other tokens brought despair, like the books I had left for her and urged her to read. I had wanted her to read Shakespeare, Dante and Rabelais but also some of these relatively new English authors. Stories of heroines falling in love with dark, misunderstood heroes, like Heathcliffe and Mr. Rochester. They might not be scarred, but they were certainty flawed. Her tastes seemed to go the other way. She had fallen in love with the handsome, safe Mr. Knightly type. My list of mistakes was growing by the hour.

I sat at my organ to play. Music was always such a release from life, and tonight was no different. This was a place of no mistakes. I didn't try to compose, and when the notes came I simply played them, some quite new and some old friends to me. I played into the early hours of the morning and felt as refreshed as if I had slept. I had also come to a conclusion through the clarity of music; I would go see her now, secretly. I wanted to see her in the peace of slumber and away from him. I had a feeling that every time I saw her from afar now, he would be close. And I would not play second fiddle to that impertinent prig of a man.

There was a man sleeping in a chair outside her door, no doubt posted there by our gallant opera patron. I wished it was him, how easy it would be to strangle him unbeknownst to anyone. Thank God it was me he was trying to keep her safe from because I wouldn't hurt her. But anyone else could slip right past this lame attempt at security. I had to smile at the absurdity of it, now she had a guard. She must have told them I wouldn't hurt her, I had my chance earlier if that was my wish. He must have insisted on it. Or maybe she knew I would not be watching over her anymore. She always slept better when she knew I was there. Maybe I was padding my own ego. Needless to say, I slid into her room unnoticed.

There was no peace in her slumber tonight. She was tossing about in her bed, muttering incoherently. Her skin was paler than usual and her brow was glazed. She could be a fitful sleeper, but this was more than that. Again I let my ego wander enough to hope that it was because of me. I was already thinking of going back on my promise to myself. I would sing to her and ease some of her restlessness. But selfishly I would not sing a soothing lullaby, but something more stirring for just a little relief. I pulled the small chair closer to her bed so I could be near enough to sing quietly. _No one would listen, no one but you heard as the outcast hears…_


	3. Chapter 3

I left just after dawn, slipping past her guard who was snoring loudly. Today I would watch the Viscount, find out a little more about him. Maybe I could kill him somewhere outside of the opera house, make it look like an accident. That really wasn't my style, but I would consider it. He would come here first to make sure she was okay and then I would follow him. I hid by her room, up high and settled in for the wait. I had nothing buy my thoughts for company, and since she was in almost every thought of mine, I thought of her. I was unlucky enough to have instant recall in all things. It was very useful when it came to music, but not when it came to memories. My remembrances did not fade and soften over time, as I had read in so many books. How many poems had I read focusing on someone's hazy thoughts of some far away yesterday? Sometimes I would trade anything to have that for just one day. The earliest memories that I had, those of my mother, would cloud and weaken and not be able to hurt me. The memories of the gypsies would not be able to stir such sudden and bitter hatred. My memories of her, first on the floor then on the stage with that same horror filled look, her eyes wide and her bottom lip trembling, would not torture me. What would it be like to forget? Even a little? But I would have those memories as clear and sharp as if they had just happened, forever. My memory was faultless and unforgiving.

A few people were starting to stir, some kitchen staff and a few stage hands. I had better wake this fool up before someone catches him sleeping. I definitely want to keep him on duty in case I need to sneak in again. But I wouldn't, I had made a promise to myself to stay away. Sure, I had broken it by singing to her, but today was a new day. Today was my first day without the promise of being with her. The hope had been with me for so long that I couldn't just let it go. It was difficult to picture a day without her in it. I tried to imagine myself talking to her, or singing with her while her thoughts were of him. No, it would never work, I would only get angry, well angrier, and I may hurt her again. Now at least I had a sort of detachment. Something had broken inside me at her betrayal, and if I dwelled on it, it would be my undoing. I had to concentrate on him.

I found some scattered debris on the floor, tacks and pins and a few pebbles. I chose a small pebble and dropped it down. It landed on the head of the sleeping man and bounced off. He didn't wake. Good, a sound, snoring sleeper at her door for protection, it was laughable. I tried a tack next, and it hit him on the cheek. This time his head snapped up and he waved his arms about as if trying to swat away an insect. Pathetic.

The Viscount came early and praised the guard for a job well done. Ah, I had to chuckle. When Christine came to the door I could see minor traces of an unrestful night. She kissed his cheek warmly, but it was a brief hello. "Can you amuse yourself for a little while? I have some business to attend to." He said, with all of the conceit of his class. She looked a little wounded at that. Was she upset at the prospect of not spending the morning with him, or because he had just treated her like a child?

They shared a goodbye kiss, and I looked away. It wouldn't do any good to let myself get all riled up right now. His time would come, I had to be patient. I wanted to stay here and watch her, hear what she would say to her friend Meg about the events of last night. True to my word though, I followed him. He went to the manager's office, and I had to use a tunnel I detested, it was very cramped and smelled of mold, urine and rat droppings. It was necessary to place my ear against a crack in the tunnel wall to hear their voices, it was damp and disgusting. I had never had to spy on the previous manager, Lefevre, but I got the feeling I would be here often and I would have to do something about these vile conditions.

"I don't care what you think, you will not give in. Box five rightfully belongs to me now," said the Viscount. God, he really was a snob. "Pay him what he asks; keep him compliant for now. I'm working on a plan." He continued. He thought I was compliant, how interesting. He was arrogant and a bad judge of character.

So, he was working on a plan. He didn't elaborate, but I wasn't worried. My guess was that his imagination was as weak as his character. Therefore, I wasn't surprised in the least when I saw him looking at one of the newer dancers appraisingly. He probably hadn't seen her before, and even if he had, who could notice her in comparison to Christine? His eyes lingered on her too long for those of a gentleman. Her name was Felicia, another piece of useless information stored forever in my memory.

Finally he found Christine. She was rehearsing the lead. At last the imbeciles had done something right. She sounded wonderful, and my least favorite nobleman thought so too, not that he knew anything about the finer points of music. When she finished she skipped over to him happily, it tugged at my heart. She looked so young, she used to come bounding into the chapel like that when we first started our lessons together.

That was the end of rehearsals for the day. Nobody could get much done after the drama of last night. I don't know why everybody felt the need to discuss it, but at least most of them agreed Buquet wasn't much of a loss. Now I had an unhappy dilemma before me, the two were going to have a quick lunch together, which meant I would have to spy on her as well as him. It turned out to be insightful though, not a total loss. He was completely out of her league, but neither of them saw that yet. He was listening to her, feigning interest, but she didn't see it, and her mind seemed to be wandering at times as well. Dare I hope a few of her stray thoughts were of me?

He left after lunch, fawning all over her when they parted. She went to find Madam Giry, and though I really wanted to hear that conversation, I bore the task of staying with him. He left the opera house, and thankfully it was snowing lightly so I could wear the hood of my cloak without looking out of place. It was one of the most uninteresting afternoons I had ever spent. He went to his tailor, who was old and untalented enough to have been Napoleon's tailor. Then he went to a shop to buy perfume, for himself and someone else, most likely Christine. Even hiding in the alley at the back of the shop I could smell the hideous concoction. Her flowery scent was wonderful already, how could he prefer this? He lacked taste and originality.

As I waited for him to settle the bill I noticed some discarded bottles in the alleyway. Some were wine bottles and some were perfume bottles. Most of them were large and garish, but amongst them was a small bottle, plain but elegant. It had a glass stopper that the craftsman had gracefully brought to a point, and then let the hot glass curl around itself, leaving a small, teardrop shaped opening. I picked it up, knowing exactly what I would use it for. Carefully I took the rose petals I had crushed in my rage last night and placed them gently in the bottle. Then I thread the satin ribbon through the tiny opening in the stopper and tied the ends together. Finally I slipped the ribbon over my head and the bottle containing the petals rested against my chest, right over my heart. I would wear it always, as a reminder; it was something we both had touched the last time we were together. And she had been holding it right before…my jaw tightened at the thought and I clenched my fists, trying to stop the surge of anger, the stabbing pain that would come if I let myself dwell on it.

CHRISTINE…

Meg caught up with me after I had seen her mother. "Christine! What happened to you last night? You keep disappearing." It had happened twice now that I left without word for an entire evening.

"Meg, can we talk?" I needed to unburden myself, gain someone else's insight, because my thoughts made no sense to me. We started towards my room, but I didn't want to go there, he could be listening. "Let's go to your room, okay?"

Once inside the tiny space I found it difficult to sit. Not because there wasn't space, but because of the anxiety I felt. I started with the easy topic. "Raoul and I fled to the roof while all the commotion was going on." I said, in a flat tone. Her eyes widened at this news, but she didn't say anything. She was giving me license to tell my story without interruption. "He says…well, he says he loves me." Now I could tell she wanted to say something, she was practically bouncing with the effort of holding back. "What do you think?" I gave her the opening she had been waiting for.

"I think it's wonderful, you deserve this, Christine." She went on and on about the position I would have as his wife, about the jewels I would wear and the fantastic parties I would attend. I never wanted those things, but weren't they every woman's desire? I decided then not to bring up the dark one. I had wanted to tell her about the last time too, but she was so happy right now. If I mentioned him she would worry and there was a chance she would tell someone. As far as I know, I'm one of the only people to have ever been to his…home. I know people referred to this unknown place as a lair, but it just sounded too evil. Lairs were dark, dirty places and where he lived was anything but that. Dragon's live in lairs, wild, feral beasts live in lairs, musical geniuses don't live in lairs. It took a moment for me to realize that maybe murderers do. Anyways, I had been there and I had no intention of helping anyone find it…find him. What he had done was wrong, but what they would do to him would be worse.

I didn't feel even a little bit better as I left her. I knew what I should want. Now I had to figure out why I wasn't sure I wanted it. The image of his eyes, the searing gaze came back to me. There was always such emotion on his face, though I could only see half of it. I don't think Raoul could even feel that deeply, never mind be unable to hide it. Meg had said I deserved to be happy with Raoul, maybe she was right. He was such a good person, kind and attentive and sweet. He wasn't full of mystery and darkness and rage. He wasn't dangerous or disarming. For most people there wouldn't be any comparison at all, but for me there was. One sung promises of summer time and daylight, but I had sought that, asked him to fill my head with those thoughts. The other sung to me of darkness and night time, something I had not sought. What was it Shakespeare had said? "Love sought is good, but given unsought is better."

I smiled at the thought of how proud my teacher would have been at me quoting Shakespeare. But then I remembered he was no longer my teacher. He was no longer anything; he did not want to see me again. Why did that bother me so much? Could it just be habit, the routine that I missed? No, it was his voice I missed the most. I had come to cherish that voice, even before I heard him sing. It had meant safety at first, but then it had come to represent so much more. That voice had taught me almost everything I know with friendship, patience and comfort. Then when all of our hard work had paid off he changed everything. Suddenly it was no longer just a voice, and there was much more than friendship in it.

I hadn't wanted to revisit the memory of the night he came to me. It had begun so well and ended so badly. I had thought I was dreaming, and when I sang, those were my words…_In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came, that voice which calls to me and speaks my name. And do I dream again? For now I find the Phantom of the Opera is there inside my mind. _His voice had been in my mind and my dreams so often, the last thing I heard before I drifted off, and continuing into the misty world of dreams. And then he had sung to me, and I smiled, unable to look away from him. The first time the voice and the man sang to me, and I had been completely mesmerized. He sang of his power over me, which was true enough, and that he needed me there with him to serve him and sing with him. The meaning of this didn't occur to me until I was away from him, out from under the enchantment, the spell he had cast.

I yearned to have a normal conversation with him. I wanted to ask him questions as I had hundreds of times before. And he would answer, sometimes sternly, sometimes not, but there would be give and take, not anger, not cursing, not disappointment. I called out for him right there. Like on the roof, not meaning to, but needing to. Only silence met my plea. But now the urge was overwhelming, I changed direction and headed for the lower chapel. It was our place, the place where he had found me so stricken with grief, and where my father's promises to me had come true. It was the one place I felt so close to them both.

I arrived breathless from running and lit a candle in remembrance of my father. I needed his guidance now more than ever. "Angel, please," I pleaded, "I need to speak with you." The minutes passed without a response. I was so used to a sort of instant gratification when it came to him. I would call out and he would come. It had been like that every time since the first time, but not this time.

"Christine?" I spun around, but it was not the voice I had been hoping to hear. It was Raoul, and he sounded slightly panicked.


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm sorry to interrupt thoughts of your father, my dear, but I was worried when I didn't find you above." He came to me and lightly kissed my cheek. This is what I needed. It was the second time he had calmed me while my thoughts of another were threatening to drown me in a murky sea of uncertainty. He was all that is good and right in my life. But is good and right what I wanted?_ He_ had said "no second thoughts" and since he said it, every thought had a second thought.

I should tell him that the one he wanted to protect me from no longer desired my company, wouldn't come even when called, that his worry was needless. But then I would have to tell him what had happened when I returned to the roof, and that I had been seeking him when I came here. I hated to deceive him, it was starting to become routine, and I didn't want that. I didn't want to deceive or betray anyone. I wanted to just be happy, live as everyone else did, leave the drama to the stage.

ERIK….

It was getting dark when we returned to the opera house, the torches and lanterns were being lit. I should grab him right here and slit his throat, it was the perfect opportunity. I hesitated, unsure why. Maybe I didn't want to martyr him in Christine's eyes. If I killed him now she would feel the loss of a promising life together and find it very unjust. She may even become bitter that God had taken first her father then her…lover. It was hard to even think that last word. I knew they weren't lovers in the conventional sense of the word…yet, but it was only a matter of time. I bit my lip with the effort of keeping still, not lunging for him now. But it was better to wait. She had been so upset after Buquet, that's when she had turned to him. This would surely make things worse. Hopefully she would see him for the haughty, pompous bore that he was. It was risky, but if she didn't discover his true nature in time, I could still kill him.

He didn't seem in a particular hurry to find her, and he placed his satchel down on a chair before heading to the chapels. Briefly I thought of taking the offensive perfume and leaving it for the dancer Felicia with a note hinting it was from him, but I didn't have time right now. I wanted to get to the chapel before him; I knew she was there. I beat him by a minute, and was sorry that I did. I should have stayed and planted the seeds of my deceitful plan.

I arrived just in time to hear her call for me. She sounded anxious, distraught, what could she need to speak to me about? My heartbeat quickened, and I clutched the little bottle around my neck for strength. Its contents symbolized what she was capable of. But it was still difficult not to respond to her. I had never denied her and I didn't want to start now. But she could not have us both in her life, it was impossible. She had forsaken me and chosen him. I had desperately wanted her to speak to me that night on the roof, but she hadn't, she had hidden. I backed against the tunnel wall and closed my eyes, hoping I wouldn't have to hear her call out again. I doubted I would have the strength to deny her a second time.

He came just in time, with his pretentious concern. Predictably, he tried to soothe her, attributing her restless state to sadness for her father. He started to sing softly, as he had last night and somehow she seemed to be enjoying it, though his sentiments were generic and his voice unremarkable. I wanted to leave before she sang to him as well. Though her voice was wonderful, it called to me, pulled at my very soul. I didn't relish the thought of seeing them kiss either. I headed back, very much needing to cleanse myself of the foulness from the tunnel this morning. I hadn't noticed while I was outside, but now that I was in a confined space, it was becoming unbearable.

On the way back I thought about her voice. We still had a little work to do, but she would get there on her own. She loved to sing and would no doubt practice everyday. But I wouldn't listen anymore. I had known my own voice held a certain power over her, but I had given her that power as well. We were orphaned, lonely souls brought together by the beauty and influence of music, and we were inextricably bound by that. I could feel the tell tale sting behind my eyes. So why didn't she love me as I loved her? Everything would be so easy if she did.

I scoffed at that. What did I know of easy? The concept was foreign to me. I don't think my mind would accept it, there was a constant need to create, to draw, to write, to compose, to design. Then there was the hiding, the scheming, the secrecy and the lies. The only reprieve from all of that was playing music and teaching Christine. For those short hours my mind was restful, at peace.

Finally I docked the boat, desiring nothing more than a bath. I wanted to scrub away the contamination from the tunnel and from this day. I had developed an ingenious system for filling the tub with hot water and sustaining the temperature until I was finished. As it filled, which took some time because it was a very large tub, I undressed, removing everything but my mask and the small bottle that held the rose petals. I had no mirrors in the bathroom; I hated the sight of me. But I could never stop myself from looking at the tiny scar just below my ribcage. It was the first scar given to me by someone other than God, my mother had given me that. I cleared my throat and quickly gathered everything I would need, set them by the tub and stepped in. The water was almost scalding, but I preferred it that way. I removed my mask and set it on a towel, but I was unsure about the bottle. It was best to take it off, but I didn't know if I could bring myself to. It had only been there for a few short hours, but already it felt like a necessary part of me, but a wanted one, unlike my mask. In the end, I took it off, wanting to protect it.

As I lay there, eyes closed, letting the steaming water wash away the stench, quick images came to me. I started to visualize Christine and I on the stage together, singing. The concept was interesting. The words and music came at me simultaneously. _What raging fire shall flood the soul? What rich desire unlocks its door? What sweet seduction lies before us…?_ I sat up too quickly, splashing large amounts of water from the tub. That was definitely something I could work with. And, to be honest, I had thought of her like that in the privacy of my dungeon. But on stage, singing passionately, seductive sentiments like that? It would certainly cause a stir. I laughed as I imagined the smug look being wiped off the Viscount's face and the shock that would replace it. But why would I be on the stage with her? Then more ideas came, one after another. I had to get to my organ and my violins.

I worked all night, and by morning I had the start of something brilliant. I hadn't spared one thought for the Viscount, or tormenting the sleeping guard at her door, or even if she was sleeping well. I wanted to spend the entire day working on it, but I should see what was going on above. I returned to the bathroom, the tub was still full and lukewarm. I retrieved my mask and put it on, noticing as I did that my chin felt rough, as though I was badly in need of a shave. Odd, I had shaved only yesterday. I touched the bottle around my neck, it was becoming a habit, and began my ascent.

There were very few people backstage, and even fewer in the dormitories. The chapel was empty and so was the entry hall. Christine and the Viscount were nowhere to be found. Where was everyone? I could feel my blood begin to race and my muscles tense. I was starting to get angry, I didn't care about the others, but I cared where she was. The thought of going back into the filthy tunnel was loathsome, but I had to figure out what was going on. Thankfully I was spared at the last moment when I overheard one of the stable hands say the carriages were all at the church. But that would mean it was Sunday. Could I possibly have been working for three days without realizing it? I looked down at my hands, and sure enough there were a few angry red blisters on the pads of my fingers. I pictured the sheets of music strewn about the organ. Even I couldn't have done all that in one night. The days had simply vanished. I would have to be more careful if I planned to keep tabs on him. And what of this plan he was working on? I had to find out what I had missed there too. Ugh…that definitely meant the tunnel.

An idea came to me, as they usually do, out of nowhere. I checked the large clock in the entry hall, noting I had enough time. I headed down to the kitchens and quickly gathered as many loaves of bread as I could carry, maybe ten or twelve. I also filled my pockets with nuts and seeds and some dried fruit, and then hurried up to the office of those two morons. I had to approach with stealth since I was in the main hallway, but there was scarcely anyone about. Once inside I tore the loaves into small pieces then threw them all around the room and then added the contents of my pockets. I stood and admired my handiwork for a moment, then went to the windows. There were four large windows overlooking a narrow strip of roof. I opened all four as wide as they could go; scaring what seemed like a hundred pigeons as I did so. But they would be back soon. I closed the door tightly as I left, smiling foolishly to myself.

They returned a quarter of an hour later. Christine looked tired, but still radiant in her Sunday best. I could tell she hadn't been sleeping well, but to the casual observer, and her imperceptive companion, it would not be noticeable. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, and her eyes sparkled. She loved outings from the opera house, but didn't have nearly enough opportunity. The relief I felt at seeing her was overwhelming. I hadn't realized how tense I was while they were gone. It seems my devious escapades hadn't distracted me as much as I thought. It had been less than an hour, what would it be like if she left with him for good, married him? I had to close my eyes and inhale deeply for close to a minute to stifle the rage.

CHRISTINE…...

I was hurt that he didn't come to me in the chapel. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and tried again the following day, hoping he was just busy elsewhere. But it had always seemed like he could hear me from anywhere. The trip to his home that night had not exactly been short, it wasn't close to the upper levels, but there had to have been times when I called to him while he was down there. Yet every other time he had come. This is punishment for the night on the roof.

I hadn't been sleeping well either, a sure sign that he wasn't watching over me. It was odd that I could know that by the quality of my sleep. But for years I had imagined I could feel when he was near. Something changed in the air, made the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Not in a fearful way, it was more like a heightened anticipation. Briefly I thought I had felt him somewhere near the chapel the other night, and that night on the roof. I should have trusted my instincts, I had felt something. But I had let Raoul's sweet song lure me from my thoughts. He had said the things to me that every woman wants to hear, lovely, romantic things. And I had behaved as a wide eyed schoolgirl, wanting safety and promises of a beautiful forever.

The rational part of me knew I was better off this way. Raoul was as perfect a suitor as anyone could ask for. He wasn't moody, or violent, or demanding. He was handsome and charming and well liked. So why did I always compare him to another? Why did my thoughts stray from him every time we were together? How could I look past a man's murder so easily now when it had been the turning point for everything? My need to speak with my dark angel was consuming me. I felt so confused, and he had always been the person I turned to. I considered trying to find his cavern again, but I really hadn't seen anything but him that night. I wasn't sure of any details from that trip except the mirror and the boat. I thought very briefly about setting out each day in the tunnel and little by little making and mapping my progress, in the style of Edmond Dantes, until I finally found it,. But, like him, I might spend weeks or longer (hopefully not the years it had taken him) and still end up in the wrong place. It had turned out well for him in the end, but who is to say I would fare as well?

I couldn't think about it any more right now, we were drawing up to the entrance. I glanced at Madam Giry as we entered, could I go to her again? She was the closest thing I had to a parent, but the last time she had told me things I didn't want to hear, sad and awful things that I know he didn't want me to hear. I felt as though I had trespassed on something sacred and secret. But she might be able to tell me the way. I turned my gaze on Meg. She had been my confidant for years, but not of anything very important. We had shared the secrets of little girls, of adolescents. This was a secret that would burden her and cause her to worry. And I knew she would not see past the grandeur of the Viscount. Her mind was innocent and pure, there was no place there for dark, mysterious strangers capable of evil things. I wasn't sure when had my mind become so accepting of those things.

I wanted to change from my church clothes, they were lovely, and I felt beautiful in them, but they were not for here, and I wouldn't be leaving again today. I had refused Raoul's invitation to lunch, not wanting to listen to him talk of our future while my thoughts would inevitably stray to someplace darker, to someone darker. His words came back to me as if through the mist of some gothic novel…_Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind, in this darkness that you know you cannot fight…_How could I process this so easily now? Probably because then I had been so full of awe, listening with glassy eyed fascination. And shortly after that the magic had been eclipsed, first by the mask, then by his anger and my fear. Now I could see it all with the perfect clarity of hindsight.

It wasn't that I didn't want a future with Raoul exactly; more that I needed more information. Was a different future, a darker one, even possible? But I was fairly certain now that "no second thoughts" meant I needed to be sure of these things, that he wanted me to be sure. But how could I be? What demon from hell had possessed him to kill that man, wretched or not?

My train of thought was halted abruptly by shouting from the end of the corridor. Raoul squeezed my arm before running in the direction of the noise. My immediate reaction was fear; a slight chill gripped my heart. Please God, please don't let it be someone else murdered. I walked slowly, not in the hurry everyone else was. I dreaded seeing the cause of the commotion. Even from this fair distance I could see a small crowd outside of the manager's office and it was chaos. For some reason there were feathers lilting in the air. The atmosphere was frantic, but not morbid, so I approached the scene. Andre was livid "this will not be tolerated, you must do something!" it was aimed at Raoul. Something smelled awful. I put my hand up to my nose to block some of the odor. Were those bird droppings on his hat?

Just then Firmin came out of the office, and it was definitely bird droppings on his hat, as well as his cloak and his shoes. Thank goodness it smelled so bad, otherwise I would have laughed. But as he neared the others, he slipped on the droppings from his shoe and fell hard to the marble floor. I squeezed my mouth with the hand I had been using to cover my nose. It wouldn't be right to laugh, he might be hurt. But I had to turn away when I saw the others in the crowd, anxious to help him, but unwilling to touch him where the birds had soiled his clothes. It took the better part of a minute for them to finally stand him up. I backed down the corridor a few paces, lest someone see me trying so hard not to laugh.

Someone else was laughing too, laughing in the voice I was desperate to hear. I turned around, searching, but I couldn't tell exactly where it was coming from. "Angel?" I whispered.


	5. Chapter 5

Of course my plan worked, but it was even better than I expected. I knew some pigeons would enter the room for the food, they were scavengers after all, but by the time I had navigated the treacherous roof to close the windows from the outside there were all manner of the species inside. A countless number of birds trapped, making the most revolting mess, and becoming quite agitated by their confinement. The office would be out of use for weeks, if not months, and I would be spared having to use the nauseating tunnel to spy on them.

I couldn't control my laughter at seeing them. Hopefully no one heard me, but they would all suspect this was my doing, and rightfully so. I grit my teeth in an effort to quiet myself. Idiot number one was shouting at the Viscount, who looked outraged. That was funny in itself, but then idiot number two came out of the room, many large, foul, grayish splotches from the birds dappled his clothes. He slipped on the some of the excrement from his shoe, falling hard to the floor. That was even funnier. Amazingly, it got better; the onlookers showed a desire to aid the fallen man but refused touching his defiled clothing. He floundered about on the floor, slipping a few more times as he tried to right himself. The feathers in the air only made the scene more comical. I can't remember the last time I laughed this hard. But the pieces de resistance was seeing her reaction, she was laughing too, or trying very hard not to.

But she heard me, and she called to me. She wanted him, why couldn't she just be with him? Why did she have to torment me like this? Could she possibly have something to say that I wanted to hear? But that wasn't fair to her. She had just been with him, and that had tormented me quite as much, possibly even more.

"I am here," I struggled to keep my voice cool and steady, very unlike my heart, which was thumping away like a bass drum.

"Please, I need to see you." God, she was the most beautiful thing. The last time she had said she needed to speak with me. Just now she said she needed to see me, was there a difference? What had I missed these past few days? Or was I overanalyzing the point? Regardless, there was no way I would let her see me now. I was in desperate need of a shave, and I had been wearing the same clothes for three days. I was far from presentable, which was ironic, I knew, coming from someone who was so disfigured that he had to wear a mask.

"Christine…" it was the self righteous voice of the Viscount. God damn him! "What are you doing over here?" He asked. I wanted to slap that possessive look right off his face.

She spun around, "I…I needed to step away…from the smell for a moment." It was a convincing performance. But then, her acting skills were admirable.

"Have you seen what he has done, this phantom of yours?" He said it out of anger, but the implication of me being hers, belonging to her, was a sudden and unexpected joy. "He has trapped those birds inside. How is anyone to even get to the windows to open them?" He was almost sputtering.

"Whoever did this somehow got to the windows." She was defending me? She tried, but couldn't quite hide a tiny smirk as she said it.

"It was him!" He was mad, he had obviously seen the smirk too, "He who hides behind the hideous mask of death!" I heard the slightest trace of envy in his voice, as only the trained ear of a musician could. Was he jealous? "I will remove you from his power, Christine, I swear it." Apparently so, that was definitely jealousy. He was a complete imbecile. He had no idea how lucky he was that she had chosen him. Now he was making as ass of himself in front of her. Not that I minded, he did not deserve her affections in the least. But jealousy is dangerous, I am well aware of what it can lead a man to do.

"I am not under anyone's power. I am as shocked by this as you are." Maybe it wasn't really a lie; she could be shocked but still find the humor in it. I appreciated her dilemma, she knew I was listening and was choosing her words carefully. How different would it be if she had known I was on the roof that night? She would still have followed her heart and chosen him, but she was not unkind, she probably would have tried to lessen the shock and spare my feelings. But betrayal is still betrayal, no matter how kindly it is done.

"Raoul, please, aid them as best you can. They seek your guidance even as we speak, and allow me another moment to recover." Bravo, she was even better than I thought. Oh, my talented little angel.

He bought it. He seemed to have gotten his anger and envy under control. "If you're sure, my dear," he stepped towards her and kissed her cheek. "I will return in a moment to escort you to your room." He said dismissively, and turned to leave.

The situation had changed, become awkward, and it was clear that she felt it to. I hated that man. He had single handedly shattered my dreams, taken the thing I loved most in this world and seemed to be continually throwing it in my face. But it wasn't just him, most of the blame lie with her, and I could never hate her. I would have to dwell on this later; we only had a few minutes together before he returned. As if she could read my thoughts, she said, "Will you see me?" Her voice was very soft, but it wasn't just so that she wouldn't be overheard, there was sadness there too.

Could I say no? I reached for the tiny bottle at my neck, but it did not yield the strength it had last time. "Yes." There was more emotion in the word than I wanted. I cleared my throat quietly, hoping to regain the cool steadiness from a few moments ago. "I will come to you." It was all I could manage without giving myself away.

"Thank you." The relief in her tone made my heart skip a beat. I might have just committed myself to serious trouble. I tried to imagine what she thought she needed from me. What if she was seeking my endorsement for her relationship with him? She had come to me for advice and approval before. I knew she held my opinion in high esteem, and though I wanted to give her all that she asked for, I could not give her this. To deny her would be nothing but anguish, but the alternative would be as well.

Maybe she wanted for us to return to our prior roles of teacher and student. I had wanted so much more than that, more than wanted, it was a burning and all consuming need, but she did not want more. Could we go back to that kind of rapport once again? No, I answered myself without any hesitation. That would be the same as giving my consent. I would either be subject to seeing them always together, falling more in love every day, or leaving this place altogether to avoid that. I would choose physical torture over either one.

I had been a large part of her life since her earliest days here; maybe she just missed that as much as I did. She had always loved to learn, was excited by the things I taught her. It wasn't just music either; she had a thirst for knowledge of the world. We would talk about geography, literature, science, and the arts, but her favorite was history. She was fascinated by the glorious pasts of Rome and Greece, everything from their mythologies to stories of the gladiators and Alexander the Great. I wondered if the Viscount would be able quench her thirst for this. I am sure he has an extensive library, and I am also sure that the things he doesn't know could more than fill every book in it.

He came back for her as promised. I would never get used to the sight of them together, it was unnatural. Again I questioned the soundness of my decision to answer the cries of the young Christine. I knew why I had done it though. I had known fear and endured loneliness at a young age, and I had wanted to make her childhood so much better than my own. But maybe I should have revealed myself to her years ago; children are generally much more accepting. The mask had proven too much for her, but what if she had come to know it long ago? It did no good to dwell on the past, no matter how much I wished that I could change it.

Now I had to figure out where to meet her. I didn't want to bring her below again. I wanted the freedom to leave if my anger, or sorrow, became too much to bear, and I didn't want to have to escort her back as I had the last time. I would just have to clean myself up then seek her and find, or make, an opportunity to spend a few minutes with her and find out what was weighing so heavily on her mind.

CHRISTINE…..

It was such a relief that he agreed to see me, and it had been so nice that he was laughing. I had been nervous, but not afraid as I had been the previous two times we were together. Now I needed to plan what to say and what to ask. I did not know how much time he would allow me. Sometimes we had spent entire afternoons together, and sometimes our lessons were brief, and I was never sure what pulled him away. First I would ask about Buquet. No, first I should ask forgiveness for the roof. I shouldn't have hidden, that had shown distrust, and I had always known deep down that he would not hurt me. But then what? My confusing thoughts, the indistinct dreams and the misty images of him definitely stirred something. What did they mean?

Raoul walked me to my room so I could change, and asked again if I would accompany him to lunch. I had to decline, I hadn't wanted to go in the first place, but I definitely didn't need the added confusion now. He was hurt, but tried gallantly not to let it show. At last I was alone, I changed quickly, then sat on the bed to think. I closed my eyes and tried to relive the feeling that had erupted inside me when I heard his laughter. Before my mind even had time to realize someone else was there, I had felt a strange warmness, almost an overwhelming heat. It was like coming in from the cold and having a large sip of cognac or brandy. The heat starts in the center and radiates throughout the body, almost painful at first, but then leaves everything so warm and wonderful. I closed my eyes tighter to make the experience more lasting. I only wished I could have seen him laughing, what a sight that would have been. I had seen enough of his anger and anguish, the burning eyes and the rigid jaw. "Laughter is the sun that drives winter from the human face." The quote popped into my mind, but I couldn't remember where I had read it.

I couldn't decide what to do. I would go crazy if I sat here all day like this. Should I go somewhere and wait, maybe the chapel or the roof? No, definitely not the roof. Should I try to get into Carlotta's dressing room and wait by the mirror? Usually we would have rehearsals, but since the tragedy with Buquet everything had been halted. I decided just to read and try to live through someone else for a little while. Hopefully it would ease my mind from the knot of confusion it had been lately, the heaping pile of puzzle pieces that made no sense but would fit together eventually. Before I could chose from my paltry book collection there was a knock at the door. My heart leapt into my throat before I could reason with it. He wouldn't have come so soon and he certainly wouldn't be knocking at my door.

It was Raoul, and I was now familiar with the disappointment associated with waiting for one and being faced with the other. But it was not his fault that I was in such turmoil, that fault lie with…I was about to say _him,_ but that wasn't true. The fault was my own. I was fairly certain I knew what each of them wanted, at least in the most basic sense. What I wanted was the issue. I was the one who was unclear.

"Come in," I tried to sound cheery, but couldn't completely hide my annoyance. He had no idea what was going on inside my head. There was no need to take my exasperation at myself out on him.

"I was hoping you would walk with me for a bit? You can't stay cooped up here all afternoon." He was very thoughtful, and I hated to lie to him yet again, but what if my dark angel came for me and saw that I was with Raoul? I may not get another chance, and I had wanted to talk to him for days.

"I'm actually a little tired," the deceit tasted sour. "I was just about to read for a little while, calm my mind after the events of this morning." There, it was actually the truth. I smiled at how good it felt.

"Certainly, I understand," there was hesitation in his tone, and I felt guilty once again. "It's just that you have seemed distracted lately. I perfectly understand why, with what's been going on around here." He sighed, and then continued, "I want you to know that despite my duties here, you come first and I have been giving a lot of thought to my…our future." Oh, no. I closed my eyes, willing him not to continue. But, of course, he did. "Do not fear, my love, we will catch him and then you and I will be free to plan our lives together."

I had no idea what to say to that. "Thank you." It was a lame response, clearly he had been expecting something more, but it wasn't another lie.

"I will leave you to rest." He said, looking a little puzzled, but kissing my cheek. "Goodbye." I am a deceitful person. I did not deserve his kindness or his attentions. He is so patient and understanding. But even as I thought it, I was already picturing another, a much less patient someone whose laughter had been the brightest part of these past few days.


	6. Chapter 6

Three times I read the first page of the book I had chosen and still had no recollection of what it said. I rose from my bed and went to the tiny writing desk in the corner, pulling out a sheet of paper, a pen and the ink bottle, unsure of what I intended to write. I dipped the pen and moved it to the paper, thinking. Tiny drops of ink fell to the page, splattering, and still I had no ideas. Maybe I should write down some of the things that I had been so confused about, things I desperately wanted to clear in my mind. But when I touched the pen to the paper, I began a list of sorts, qualities that I admired about Raoul…Thoughtful, kind, caring, considerate…they all seemed so mundane, so ordinary. But then I started to write another list, qualities of another… A voice somehow as exciting as a symphony and a sensuous whisper at the same time…the eyes, so mesmerizing, so piercing, so expressive and the longing, loving way he had looked at me that first night …the depth of emotion, always so close to the surface that you could almost feel it pulsing in the air…the way my heart seemed to stop for a beat then speed up every time I felt his presence…

I had what every girl here wanted, dreamed of and strove for. I had a future with the Viscount de Changy. I had the love of a wonderful and respected man and the security of a happy ending. Why did that suddenly not seem like enough? The thought made me so angry. What was wrong with me? MY choices had led me here, to this precipice I could not navigate, this gulf I could not cross. I had removed the mask and opened the floodgates for his anger and for my childish fear, which had lead to the murder of a possibly innocent man. I had, in that moment of fear, turned to Raoul, brought him to the roof and bid him make promises to me, promises of a lifetime of love. I had betrayed them both in almost every thought, every word, and every breath. "No second thoughts," it had been a curse. Those three words had haunted me, set the scene for sleepless nights and tortured days full of indecision and doubt. I deserved it, and I had no idea what I was going to do about it.

I could no longer stay here, I would go completely mad. I left the room and hurried down the corridor. I took the stairs two at a time and ran through the backstage area. My need for solace pushed me even faster until at last I reached the chapel. This was my place of comfort. I entered, flushed and out of breath from the exertion of getting here. I knelt before the small painting of my father, wishing more than ever that he was here to guide me. My hands shook as I tried to light the candle. "What am I to do, Papa?" I whispered, my throat dry and tight, and my eyes burning. I hung my head and covered my face with my hands, letting the tears come. For several minutes I was not capable of speech, my sobs were too great. As I cried I thought of the wishes and dreams that my father had for me, the ones he had shared with me, and at long last the sobs began to subside. I looked at the painting once again. "Did you send him to me, Papa, as you promised you would?" I wasn't sure which one I was even asking about. One had come as the promised "Angel of Music" at first, offering beautiful music that came with a world of darkness and nighttime. And the other had come back from my childhood, at one time my father's choice for me, offering to save me from this orphan's life, and promising everything else. I didn't expect an actual answer, I never did when I spoke to him, but I always felt better for asking, and sometimes thoughts would seep into my mind in an imagined response. "I don't know what to do…what to think, help me, please Father," I pleaded, closing my eyes and trying to quiet my mind, hoping some fresh insight would appear. A few moments passed, and then I heard it, in my mind, that booming, glorious voice…_let your soul take you where you want to be…only then can you belong to me._

ERIK…..

I was prepared to see her now, or more appropriately, for her to see me. It was tempting, now that I was here again, to return to my organ and work a little on my opera. But I had learned how carried away I could get and I did not want to risk that happening again. For reasons beyond my understanding, and that was no small feat, I was unwilling to disappoint her, and failing to go to her would do exactly that.

But the lure of my work was strong, pulling at me and calling to me, filling me with an edgy excitement so intense that at times I gave into it without realizing I was doing so. Several times during my preparations I found myself standing beside the great instrument, my fingers aching to play, my mind full of nothing but the music. Only my will was stronger than the overwhelming urge to play, that and my love for Christine. If only I was going to her because she wanted me, not wanted to speak with me, this would be so different. But this may be yet another is a series of very painful encounters with her. Maybe after this, though, I could give in to the music. I could dedicate days, or weeks, or even months to the work, forgetting the trivial routine, the Viscount, the morons above…forgetting everything but her. She was the music, the source and inspiration for it all. She was my muse, my angel of music.

Now to find her, would she be with him? Would I have to watch them, she who I loved most in this world, and he, who I hated with a fierceness previously reserved only for the gypsies? Would they be strolling arm in arm, laughing and, God forbid, kissing? And if so, would I be able to control myself? That was the life I had imagined for me, having her by my side, laughing with me and loving me. They had taken that away and left a hollowness that not even music could fill. Aaarrrgh! Enough of this…this self pity and this remorse, I had enough of it to last a lifetime, but this was not the time for that. It was time to seek her out, and possibly say goodbye. If I thought about that for even one more moment the grief would be too much for me.

As I docked the boat, I remembered again that very first day with her, the day the obsession had begun. Her voice had been so sweet even through her sorrow, and I had wanted to see her, but I had been unprepared for the sight. She was sitting on the floor, her head bowed, her face in her hands. At the sound of my voice she had looked up, stunning me with the largest, saddest eyes I had ever seen, and they pulled me right in. Her pale skin and long, dark, shiny curls had given her the appearance of an angel, a perfect little child. She had been beautiful even then, and had grown more so every day. I remember thinking that I never wanted to see her that sad again, that I would do anything in my power to keep the tears from those eyes. I had been like a father figure to her then, given her the unconditional love a parent has for their child, something I had craved every day of my life.

But she was not my child, and that love had changed gradually over the years, changed into this engulfing, reason defying, and burning entity of its own. I had no control over it, and I was methodical, always in control. Still my mind would not rest as I made the ascent, I couldn't find peace, only angry and painful memories. And no matter how hard I tried to rid myself of it, her betrayal was fresh in my mind. Once again I reached for the bottle at my neck, feeling instantly better as my fingers found the cool glass.

She was not in the chapel, but she had been here very recently. The candle by her father's picture was burning but still fresh, and her lovely, flowery scent hovered in the otherwise gloomy room. Thank God he hadn't given her that repulsive perfume he had bought the other day. Or maybe he had, but she chose not to use it. That brought a smile to my face, but my mind overthrew the happy thought at once, preferring that I remain in my agitated and defensive mood. This is how I learned to cope with the unpleasant things in life, through anger and often brutality. That was yet another gift from my mother.

She was nowhere near the stage area either. It was oddly quiet for this late on a Sunday afternoon, but there hadn't been rehearsals or a performance around here for a few days. I would have to do something about that. As I was about to head backstage, I saw the person I was most itching to kill, and decided to see where he was going. He wasn't with her, at least not yet, and that brought another smile to my face. It was allowed to stay a little longer than its predecessor. He met up with André just beyond the grand staircase, and I heard a little of their conversation…excellent, they were going to the new office, a room a few doors down, on the opposite side of the corridor where I could listen in a relatively clean and spacious tunnel. I shivered involuntarily as I thought of the filthy and repugnant one I would hopefully never need to enter again. Although, maybe I could tie him up and leave him in that horrible place for the rats to feed on. That smile was allowed to stay indefinitely.

This was a tunnel I didn't use very often, and it wasn't quite as spacious as I remembered, which seemed strange. It was dark, but I was used to darkness, and thankfully it didn't smell or have the damp sewage seeping through the walls. I crept soundlessly along until I heard their voices through the stone.

"…You will need to start rehearsing for another performance, it doesn't matter which one," the Viscount was saying. "As long as Christine Daaé has the lead, he is sure to be there," he continued. Ah, they were setting a trap for me.

It was Firmin's turn to speak. He must already have been in the office when the other two arrived. "How can you be certain he will come?" Could he be serious? Obviously he hasn't been paying attention to what's been going on because of him…them… refusing to heed my instructions.

"He imagines himself in love with her. He won't be able to resist, trust me." I wasn't sure I wanted to listen to any more; the superior tone in his voice was affecting me more than I cared to let it, and I wasn't afraid of them or their plan. "Christine will help us if need be." Okay, that got my full attention. Five days ago I would have thought he said it just to hear himself speak, never believing her deceitful enough for that. Now, though, I wasn't sure at all. Could she be capable of helping them try to entrap me?

They talked for another half hour, mostly about who they could enlist to help, possibly calling in some gendarmes and where to station them, boring stuff. The Viscount had a brother, equally as conceited no doubt, who would aid them in their attempt. I wanted to hear more of Christine's role in the plan, but they did not mention her again until the Viscount made his exit, stating he would go to her now and inform her that rehearsals would begin again tomorrow.

As much as I loathed the thought of seeing them together, I had to follow. Even after all that she had done, I couldn't believe she was willing be a part of this. I would have to see it with my own eyes and hear her say the words to actually believe it. Choosing him over me was one thing, she might be unaware of how much that actually hurt, but wanting to see me imprisoned, or hanged…No, I took a deep breath in an effort to stay calm. I would reserve judgment of her until I knew for certain if she was involved.

It took a little while to find her. He…we looked in all the usual places, as I had done earlier, not realizing they were at church. He was getting more agitated the longer he searched, muttering softly to himself, while I could not help feeling anxious. The need to know was weighing on me. Finally he found her sitting alone on the stairs at the far end of the wardrobe area. I didn't want to observe from the catwalks, I needed to be closer, able to see and hear her clearly. I hid behind a rack of Carlotta's costumes; they were large and ornate enough to hide ten men.

I was close enough to see that she had been crying. I suddenly remembered that she was probably waiting for me. I had let that slip to the back of my mind. Not surprisingly, he either didn't notice or didn't care about the obvious signs of her recent sorrow. "Christine…what are you doing here?" he said angrily and without an ounce of tact.

She looked up, not at all surprised to see him there. She glanced very briefly at the rack of costumes next to where I hid. "I sometimes come here to think," she said airily in retaliation to his anger. She was looking at the very rack I was behind. I held my breath, but it didn't stop my heart from beating wildly. She didn't turn her gaze away until he spoke again. She knew that I was here.


	7. Chapter 7

I closed my eyes, willing the sound of his voice to stop. I imagined myself leaping from this spot, grabbing him around the throat, squeezing hard, the veins on the back of my hand raised and pulsing with the fire of my blood, listening to him whimper and sputter. He was becoming less and less arrogant as he begged me, pleaded with me to release him. His face was contorting, his eyes bulging and his skin a sickly grayish blue. I would snap his neck right now and watch the light leave those swollen, ignorant eyes. Then to her, grabbing her around the middle and pulling her close, crushing her lips with my own. She wouldn't fight me; her soft, sweet lips would caress mine, only wanting more. Her scent was filling and intoxicating me, and the feel of her own small hands at me neck, needing me and pulling me even closer as I backed her to the wall…

The thrill that ran through me at these images was like wildfire. My chest was heaving, struggling to take in enough air and my breath was ragged because I couldn't. This is how it should be. This is what I wanted. But this was madness. My fantasies would get me nowhere, well; besides sitting here in this heightened, aroused state listening to that complete imbecile make plans for my capture and ultimate demise.

I didn't want to play these games anymore. I wanted to be rid of that smug bastard and I wanted her. I wanted to take her with me and make her love me. I wanted to see that needy look on her face, her eyes filled with ferocious longing as I had imagined. But I had tried that and failed. Anger crept in slowly, not like the usual crashing wave, but crawling, like hungry insects, up my spine, burrowing in my mind, driving away the thrill and excitement of moments ago. I needed to listen; I had to know if she could be part of their plans. I had to lock the tempting fantasies away…for now.

CHRISTINE…..

Of course Raoul would be the one to find me here. This was fate's way of trying to tell me something, always throwing him in my path, while I was searching for another. The last time I had been on these stairs with Raoul I had been frantic and afraid; afraid that I would never escape from _him. _Now he was the one I most wanted to see…and…I felt the tiny hairs raise and shiver on the back of my neck, and the warm, welcome wave as my pulse quickened. That could only mean that he was here too, and I couldn't suppress a smile.

Raoul came towards me, as if to kiss my cheek, surly expecting the smile was for him. I couldn't fight the urge to turn away, feigning a need to cough. At the last minute he changed maneuvers and hugged me briefly. I felt hot and uncomfortable.

"Christine, we are working on a plan…" there was no need for him to elaborate. I knew what he was talking about. But he went on, "we may need your help to catch this opera ghost." Absolutely not! Never! I refuse to help; I can't imagine this place or this world without him. That is what I wanted to say, what I should have said. Why was this so obvious to me now?

"No, Raoul. I am not comfortable with that," is what I did say. It didn't help his anger, but it was refreshing in a way that he was most likely the angrier of the two. He stepped closer to me, and even though we had kissed many times, this somehow seemed too familiar.

"You may not have a choice," he said, not angrily, but resolutely. Then he came closer still, it was intimate and unpleasant. This time he did kiss my cheek. I repressed a shudder. My choice was becoming clear with every passing moment. "You will sing, and he'll come, he won't be able to stay away from you". I didn't know if he was right about that, but I didn't want to hear anymore. An image came to mind of Raoul and indistinct others dragging him away, beaten and- I felt ill at the thought, my stomach tightened with a lurch, and the acidic tang of bile filled my throat. "I must speak with my brother. Think about it, Christine." He turned to go, not nearly soon enough, but then stopped and said, "We can end this all very soon, and you will be the greatest help of all." He smiled, waiting for a response. I did not want to have this argument with him right now, I wanted him to leave. In an effort to placate him I tried to smile back, but it wouldn't come.

I watched him go, just to be sure, and then I turned to the costumes. He was there, tall and dark and magnificent.

"Was that performance for my benefit?" His voice was cold and lifeless. His face was sternly set. But he was here, in all his dark glory, banishing the clouds of uncertainty that had been hovering for days. It felt so good to finally see him. I wanted to take in every detail of him, all of the things I had been to blinded by awe or fear to see before.

My throat felt thick and sticky with a mixture of the fading bile, wild elation and slight trepidation. I was sure I wasn't ready to speak, so I shook my head. I tried to swallow, but there was still a large, stiff lump stubbornly lodged there. He was waiting for me to speak, waiting to hear what I had to say, as I was sure he was that night. The awkwardness of that didn't escape me either, since I was the one who had pleaded that I needed to speak with him. I tried to swallow again, praying my throat would loosen, even a little.

"No," I whispered hoarsely. At least it was something. I cleared my throat before trying again. "No, it was for mine." I was waiting for his expression to change, possibly lighten a little, but it didn't. "Should we, maybe…go somewhere to talk?" The stickiness was gone, but now my voice sounded high and unnatural. I really didn't want to stay here, I didn't want to be interrupted, and I didn't want Raoul to return. What I wanted was to run to him, throw myself into his arms and beg for forgiveness. How could I not have known this? How could the sight of him, angry and unbending, pull these feelings from the hidden places in the depths of my heart?

"Where is it you would like to go?" His tone was slightly mocking, and his face was as rigid as the mask, unreadable and devoid of emotion. I was surprised that I didn't feel afraid of him, and even more surprised that it suddenly seemed silly that I ever was, but I was afraid of saying the wrong thing and bringing that out in him again. If I ran to him, as my legs yearned to, and were shaking with the effort of restraining from, he may push me aside again. I had to focus, remain rooted here in the moment. I had to make him understand how things had changed, even though I didn't understand it myself.

"Below, to your-" I stopped when I saw him slowly shake his head.

"No." No explanation, just no. I could feel some of the color draining from my face, and my hands were starting to feel clammy. He no longer trusted me, and that hurt more than I expected.

My next thought was the chapel, like always. But he had never shown himself to me there and on the few occasions when someone else had come down they assumed I was there singing to myself. He would have nowhere to hide if someone came down while we were there together. "I don't know…" I struggled to stay calm. This wasn't going very well so far, "Maybe the roof?" I regretted it at once.

"How fitting," He said dryly. He certainly wasn't making this easy. But it wasn't a no, and at least it was some place private, with a door. I pulled a heavy, fur lined cloak off of one of the racks closest to me, not caring about the size. I met his eyes again, wildly hoping for something other than the stony stare. His gaze was searing, but both sides of his face were still cold and formal. I started the long journey up the stairs, taking the opportunity to try and figure out what to say. About halfway up I had a realization; it was sudden and sharp, like stepping on a tack. The hazy images, the dreams, the iridescent bits of memory and the nagging uncertainty were messages, signals from my soul, or my heart, trying to break down the ramparts my mind had constructed out of fear. His mesmerizing voice could slip through so easily, but left on my own, without him for days, I was locked away in the tower.

ERIK…..

I could no longer trust her, but her response to both of us had sounded sincere. Did she seem as anxious to be rid of him as I thought? Or was this another, more subtle ploy by my imagination? Still, I was defensive, sheltering myself, always expecting the worst. I had trained very hard to become strong and agile, and I had studied all manner of weapons in an effort to fight back against the many cruelties this face seemed a magnet for, but I had not prepared myself for this particular brand of torture. I was unskilled at defending my heart, never having believed there would be a need for it.

I followed her through the door and slid the lock from the outside. There was no need to take unnecessary chances. The night was perfect, cool, crisp, and cloudless with only the slightest hint of a breeze. I took a few steps to the left of the door and leaned back against the cold stone, sure I would need the extra support at some point. I chanced a peek at her and my mouth fell open, my breath catching in my throat. Her pale skin was glowing, resplendent in the moonlight, her beautiful hair was slightly disheveled from the climb and a few stray spirals wisped tantalizingly in the air. I shook my head slightly to scatter the vision, preferring the protection of my icy detachment. In an effort to regain it, my eyes eagerly sought the spot where I had first seen the rose; the pain was stabbing, acute, as if it had just happened. The resting place of the ravaged flower and my dying heart looked just like anywhere else; no trace of the recent catastrophe lingered. She put on the cloak she had taken, thankfully oblivious to my thoughts, and turned to face me. She was nervous, flushed and jittery, but that was not my doing, and I could tell she was ready to speak. I balled my fists tightly, letting my fingernails bite the flesh, and braced myself.

"First, please let me ask your forgiveness…" her voice fell to a whisper before saying "…for the last time." That was an unexpected and very welcome start. But could I forgive her for that? My mind was hopelessly bitter and highly resentful. I had the urge to touch the petals, let them know I remembered their sacrifice, but I didn't want her to see.

"I was afraid." It sounded like she had more to say, but she cast her gaze toward one of the lifeless statues. I knew her almost as well as I knew myself, or I thought I did. But I was sure she was trying to gather her courage to ask about Buquet. I could make this a lot easier for her; I took no pleasure from watching her struggle. That was a lie; there was a tiny part of me smiling at her struggle. But she had asked for this meeting and I would wait until she was ready to tell me why.

"You killed that man." She said very softly. It wasn't a question, and it didn't sound like an accusation. She put her fingertips to her mouth after she said it, a familiar sign that she was thinking hard about something. The appearance of them caught me off guard. Normally she had the hands of a goddess, but her fingernails were now ragged and rough, and her thumb nail was bitten nearly to the quick. She had definitely been worried about something. I was waiting for her to ask why I had killed him, but she turned back to face me without saying anything else. That tiny part of me grinned; two could play at that game.

"I did." It was childish and irritating, I know, and I couldn't help it. But this was the game I hated, it was so awkward between us, but again, it had been her doing, maybe not all of it, but most of it.

Part of my mind was screaming at me, filling my ears with the pounding, resonating urge to take her, bring her below as she had so enticingly asked, end this relentless and tiresome back and fourth. Or be a man, my heart yelled back, and tell her what you feel. Tell her she is the sole glimmer of brightness in your life, that you would slowly wither away, shrinking and dying a little more every day if excluded from that brightness. What more could I possibly lose? My dignity was gone, ripped away from me unceremoniously and discarded with the mask that night that seemed a lifetime ago. My heart was shattered, left in bloody pieces on the snow five days ago. Now I was a hollow shell, only my mind in tact… barely, an empty corpse waiting for the death blow she would deliver at any moment.

"I don't want it to be like this between us." She said suddenly, tearing me willing from my gloomy thoughts. "I miss everything about the way it used to be…" the stirring loveliness of her voice was seeping in like sunlight, melting the carefully constructed and much needed icy detachment. Her eyes were darting about, not fixing on anything in particular. She was avoiding looking at me. Was it because I made her nervous, or because she was hiding something? "I…I…" The words broke in her throat, she was trying not to cry, and that's the reason for her refusal to look upon me. My façade was thinning. I could see the glistening droplets forming on her lashes as she turned further. I took a step away from the safety and support of the wall. My mind was far from ready to abandon the righteous anger, she deserved no more. But the rest of me was clearly ready to let it go, release it into the night and go to her.


	8. Chapter 8

My heart was winning the internal struggle when she spoke again. "I'm sorry, Angel." She wiped the solitary tear from her lash with her finger. "Forgive me?" it was more of a question than a statement. That's how thin the façade was, I would give it all up, give up everything for her, my angry pretense, my bruised, bloodied and broken heart and my foolish desire to make her choose. Finally she caught my gaze, her eyes were warm and gentle, and their sadness caressed and breathed some much needed life into the damaged organ lying beneath the petals.

"What would you like me to forgive?" My tone was still cold, too cold. My mind was fighting back, and I couldn't stop myself "You have made your choice, Christine." My next words were an outright lie and would haunt me for years to come. "Because of that, I no longer wish to be part of your life." Even as I said it, I wished I could take it back. Why did I let my anger drive me to say these hurtful and untrue things? She wrapped her arms around herself, enveloping her body in the protective gesture, but her eyes locked onto mine, their amazingly soft, chocolate depths refused to let me go.

"I made the wrong choice," It was an agonized whisper, and at last, she closed her eyes, releasing me and spilling fresh tears in the process. My chest tightened uncomfortably, I couldn't breathe.

CHRISTINE…

Though my mind was racing, and the once steady beat of my heart was increasing every second, I still marveled at the sight of him. He was impeccably dressed, as he had been the other two times, in an understated way. He seemed to prefer a classic look to the sometimes overdone fashions of the day. Strangely, I thought of his appearance as flawless, despite the fact that he had to hide part of his face, and as he leaned back against the wall I was struck by the sheer power of his presence. He was a magnetic force, pulling deeply buried feelings, and unholy, impure thoughts to the surface. His face was still stony, but his eyes told another story. My experience with his physical presence was limited, and most of it was hazy, but I was beginning to notice a pattern. His eyes would almost glow, green and fierce, when he was angry. This is when his voice would turn to ice and his face would set, his strong jaw clamped and unmoving. Those were the eyes that came to me in dreams, disturbing my slumber night after night. But then those eyes would mellow to a soft, deep, grayish green shortly after, and the biting tone would no longer tinge his words. I had never had the privilege to look upon those eyes during easy, everyday conversation, but I imagined they would be clear, radiant and welcoming. The first time I had seen him, that first amazing night, his eyes had been green fire and dark grey smoke, full of emotion and impossible to turn away from. This is how they were now.

Again I apologized, it was the most important thing, and needed to be said again and again until he relented. He was still very much on his guard, agitated and statue like. Finally a small smile appeared, it was harsh, almost a sneer, but oddly stunning. Then came the swift lash of his reply, quick and callous, but also silky smooth. The deeply masculine tone of his voice was both biting and mesmerizing at the same time.

I had made my choice, but it had been an errant one and had stalked me like a predator for days. I understood that now. I had been foolish and rash, not thinking about the consequences. I had felt safe with Raoul that night because I had been scared, but I didn't stop to think about anything outside that moment. I had wounded them both, or soon would, and myself as well. Now I stood to lose the single most important thing in my life. The weight of that hadn't occurred to me, consciously at least, until right now. I no longer cared about Buquet, somehow that seemed the least important event in this past week. We would find a way to move past that. I had never felt like this, not even for a second in Raoul's presence. I took a deep, steadying breath, refusing to crumble under his hurtful words, and met his furious stare. "I made the wrong choice." It didn't sound nearly as confident as I hoped, but I was relieved that I managed at all under such intense scrutiny. But, alas, it was impossible to keep the tears at bay.

He was affected by my confession. It was clear he hadn't expected it. He moved away from the wall, first to the left, then to the right. His uncertainty was palpable, and the panic was rising inside me with every passing moment of his silence. He continued to prowl about, like a beautiful and exotic cat, seemingly unaware that my sanity was on the verge of collapse as I awaited his response.

The longer I stood there, the more affected he seemed. There was some type of private battle going on inside him, and the dark look that crossed his face did not go unnoticed by my quivering heart. _Please let him understand…don't let it be too late…it can't be too late._

Of course he had every right toreject me, but I took a tentative step towards him, wanting him to know I was no longer afraid. My heart had been trying to overthrow my mind by calling him back that night, unfortunately it had taken all this time for me to see that. He turned to look at me, completely bewildered. But that was good; it meant I still had a chance. I took another step, but his uncertainty turned colder. I stopped where I was, but refused to draw back from his now cruel expression. His eyes tightened, and I took another deep breath to compose myself before saying, "No second thoughts."

I heard rather than saw his sharp intake of breath. Now it was his turn to take the tentative step. He stopped barely a foot away and looked down at me. His eyes searched mine for an eternity. I saw so much hurt reflected there, but amongst the pain and sorrow, I saw hope. I couldn't move; I could only wait, completely captivated by his intense stare. Surely, hopefully, he must see the sincerity in mine.

With painful slowness his face softened. The tightness around his eyes evaporated, his jaw loosened and his mouth fell open the slightest bit. His expression was still troubled, but no longer merciless. My eyes fell to his mouth; it was perfection, completely unmarred by the affliction that distorted the right side of his face. As I stared at his lips I couldn't help imagining what they would feel like on the sensitive skin of my neck. Instantly I had another glimpse into that misty night in his home. He had caressed me, my body against his and I had desperately wanted him to kiss me. He hadn't, he had continued with his enchantment, his beautiful song. How could I have forgotten that? My stomach was so full of butterflies at just the vague memory of it.

His hand came up and rested softly on my cheek. I leaned my face into his touch eagerly, wantonly. It was far from ladylike, but I wanted to ease the uncertainty clouding his expression, and there weren't adequate enough words to describe the feeling of his skin on mine. I hadn't realized how much I had yearned for it. But then, I hadn't realized so many things about him, always taking his presence for granted until I pushed it away.

His eyes found mine and again his forceful gaze bore into mine, as if trying to see my very soul, and I was disarmed for a moment when I realized he was seeking permission. Even if I wanted, I couldn't hide the desire I was sure was apparent on every inch of my face. He drew a guarded breath and closed his eyes. Torturous seconds passed before he moved again, and when he opened his eyes, his desire mirrored my own, but still the uncertainty lingered there. His hand softly pulled my face up to meet his. I could feel his breath caress my lips, and I closed my eyes, overwhelmed with anticipation. Suddenly he stiffened and drew a sharp breath, pulling away. _No!_ Every nerve in my body was heightened, and unwilling to stop, refusing to let the euphoria end before it really began. But through the shock, I heard his menacing growl, quickly followed by banging from the other side of the door.

ERIK…..

The most miraculous part of her actions was that I wasn't singing to her, or trying in any way to elicit these confessions or this attraction written plainly across her lovely features. I was meeting her with anger, contempt and even resentment. She had admitted making the wrong choice with no remorse detectable, causing reactions I was in no way prepared for. I knew her very well, had studied her expressions for years without her knowing, and when I searched her eyes I saw only truth there. I wanted to take her in my arms and kiss her, as I had envisioned so many times, but the reality of the moment was that I was unsure how to start. A wave of deep embarrassment washed over me as I realized I had no experience with this type of passion. I had read about it and seen it on stage; but none of those people wore a mask they had to work around. I didn't want her soft, supple skin to feel the cold hardness of it. This wretched mask interfered with every aspect of my life, but I refused to let it interfere with this.

I cupped her cheek with my hand and she immediately nuzzled into the touch. My heart was on the mend and trying to leap from my chest. I looked deep into her eyes again, needing to be sure this is what she wanted, that she didn't mistake my intent, and was staggered by the depth of emotion, and the unmistakable desire I saw there. I pulled her closer, knowing how I would lean in to be sure she did not feel the repulsive mask. I was less than inch away from the heaven of her kiss when I heard the footsteps on the other side of the door. Blind fury erupted in my mind, and my blood, already coursing quickly, sped up with dizzying momentum. I could barely think through the pounding rush. I pulled away, not wanting her to get hurt once again by my rage.

My first impulse was to pull open the door and grab him, for there was no doubt in my mind who it was. I took a few steps towards the door before my better judgment took over. _Think…was there more than one set of footstep… Is he alone?_ My mind had been very pleasantly distracted, but I tried to recall what I had heard prior to the footsteps. There was one, maybe two, at most, and I cursed inwardly as I realized I didn't have my sword. I was sure the Viscount was no match for me physically, but two was a different story. I couldn't help wondering, very briefly, if this was a setup, if she was somehow involved. Thinking like this was shameful, but it was ingrained in me, and had kept me alive on more than one occasion. I turned to look at her and regretted the thought at once. She looked scared and vulnerable, almost child like in the oversized cloak. My heart went out to her in that moment, realizing that no matter what happened, it would be hard for her. But the resentful part of me couldn't help adding that she had brought it on herself. I shook my head to expel the unpleasant thought.

She rushed over to me and grabbed my arm with more force than I expected. I turned and met her gaze. "Please," she pleaded anxiously, "just hide and let me try to talk to him."

If I was alone, I might have considered hiding to avoid him. But what if he was angry enough to hurt her and I couldn't get there in time? Or did she think I was no match for him? Either way, that option was out of the question.

"No." I didn't have time to explain my reasoning to her. I took another step towards the door, but the pressure on my arm tightened and her high, frightened voice begged again for me to hide. "Christine, I can't protect you that way."

"Angel," her tone was desperate, but very endearing. "Please, please, do this for me. You don't need to protect me from him. I will be fine, but I need to know that you are too." I knew this would end badly, but I found myself unable to resist her when she pleaded with me like this. I took a shallow breath, and against every rational thought, I bowed my head in consent.

I walked slowly towards the statue that had been my refuge and my tomb the last time I was here. How could I have let her talk me into this? I watched her walk over and slide the latch for the door with restless foreboding. Despite the crispness of the night, I was sweating as I took the coward's spot for the second time in a week, and thought I didn't want to admit it to myself, her safety was only part of the issue. I didn't want to watch them together again. Part of me still feared she would change her mind, that he would talk her around to her prior way of thinking. Could these miraculous past few minutes be the final chapter in the epic story of Erik and Christine? It was difficult to remain positive. Hope had never been a friend to me, but disappointment was my oldest companion.

He came through the door with all of the superiority I expected from him, closely followed by one of André's henchmen. He was as bloated and overconfident as Buquet had been, but still there were two to contend with and her safety was much more important than my own. He went to her, and surprisingly he did not seek to embrace or comfort her in any way. He spoke to her as if she was a misbehaving child, and I had to bite my lip to keep from rushing at him. The fantastic visions of ending his life were threatening to fill me, but I could not give into them. I needed to stay alert.

She led him a few steps closer to where I was, not wanting the thug to overhear. He stayed by the door, guarding it, already looking bored. She was trying to let the Viscount down gently, but he wasn't receptive to the idea. I could see angry, red splotches appearing on his face, and his hand was shaking slightly. Obviously, the pompous ass was not used to rejection, and this was quite a shock. If it was anyone else I would have felt sorry for them, knowing myself how painful it is to lose Christine.

I studied his every movement, unsure of how he would react, but, as always, expecting the worst. He was getting angrier by the moment, gesturing dramatically and pacing small circles. I had to close my eyes for a moment in an effort to keep my fury at bay. He kept finding ways to remind her of his wealth and position in society, as if that made him a real man. And true to his pretentious nature, he ungraciously reminded her of her father's probable wishes for their future. She was faltering under the pressure, trying not to cry, her cheeks were red and her voice was soft, and beseeching. It was only a matter of time until he lost his temper. I was alert, ready in case he tried to harm her. A moment later it happened. He was yelling at her, calling her some very shocking things, and she recoiled from the insults. She took a step back from him, but he quickly closed the gap. He was a gentleman in title only, certainly not in manner. But as I thought it, I remembered how ill-behaved I had been to her, shouting at her and calling her equally shocking things.

He grabbed her roughly by the arm. I knew that showing myself now would make him even angrier, he had yet to figure out my role in her sudden change of heart. But I couldn't stand by and watch him accost her, and I was very ready for a fight with him.

"Take your hand off her NOW." Both of them jumped, surprised by my sudden appearance. I wanted to look at her, to see that she was okay, and what she was thinking, but I didn't dare take my eyes off of him right now. In the background I could see the thug come away from the door, smiling at the prospect of something more exciting.

"You?" He was genuinely shocked, looking from her, back to me, then again at Christine with undisguised disgust. "Don't be ignorant Christine." He had a cold, sneering tone that reminded me very much of myself.


	9. Chapter 9

I could grab him so easily. I had my lasso, but I would prefer to strangle him with my bare hands, feeling his pulse race, then slow, and finally stop beneath my fingers. If I did the brute would surely come for me, or worse, her, while I was caught up in the task I had envisioned so often. His death was something I wanted to savor, not rush. Patience was far from my strongest attribute, but I had no choice, her safety came first.

He removed his hand from her roughly, but did not back away. "All your talk of wanting to escape from him…of wanting freedom…where is that now?" He said, his face contorted with frustration.

"Like all things, Monsieur, it has evolved." I said, mockingly, moving closer to him, and hoping she would retreat so I could shield her somewhat. I sensed her movement, still not daring to take my eyes off of him, as his hand moved slowly towards the hilt of his sword. The other, more obese of the unwelcome guests was moving closer, his sword almost fully drawn.

How had I let myself get in this position? The fact that I had underestimated him left a foul taste in my mouth. Worse still was the thought that I had put her in danger. I felt her take another step back and I moved in before he had the chance, she was almost behind me now.

My answer wasn't good enough for him; he chose to address her again, but in a much more sedate tone. "What of this betrayal, Christine?" He had forgotten his sword for the moment, overcome with emotion. The broken, hollow sound of his voice stirred something, reminding me as much of my own as the cold sneer had.

She certainly knew about betrayal. My hand moved involuntarily to the tiny jar about my neck, and she was getting very good at it. I wanted to spare her having to answer, but I also found myself curious as to what she would say. I could feel her eyes on me, waiting for me to answer in her stead once again, but as much as I detested this man, inexplicably, I felt he deserved to hear it from her. He could not love her as I did, his ego left little room for anyone else, but he had discovered her here with another while he believed her to be his. It was a pain I could certainly identify with. Maybe even he didn't deserve that. Odd, I still thought he deserved to die, but die knowing the truth as only she could tell it.

"Once she gives you the answer that you seek, you can leave or you can die…the choice is yours." I said, in a soft but deadly tone so there was no mistake.

CHRISTINE…

This was of my own making, and I had to finally take some responsibility for it. Now I had hurt everyone…hurt the people I cared for because of some adolescent fantasy, a heated, fear induced schoolgirl fancy. Because of that, and because I hadn't known myself well enough or trusted my instincts, was the harsh reality of this situation. My head ached, but my resolve heightened with the responsibility.

I could withstand his harsh words and the rough feel of his hands on me, it wasn't the first time, and he wasn't the first one, _but_ _why did I have to continually provoke this?_ It is very possible that I didn't deserve the love of either one. This thought, as much as Raoul's hard grip seemed to draw him out from behind the statue. The sternness of his voice made me jump. _Why, my beautiful Angel…why not stay hidden…, why risk yourself for me?_

His very presence dominated even this large, open space, commanding the attention of all present, though they were armed, and he, seemingly, was not. I felt a small surge of hysteria as I thought about the implications of that, it bubbled up inside uncomfortably. But then his mocking, confident tone settled the unease, bringing with it the realization, the harsh memory, that he was the lethal one. I couldn't repress an unwelcome shiver.

Raoul's question and his small, wounded voice pulled me from my darker musings. I looked to my angel, who still wouldn't look at me, hoping he would not take charge again. This I needed to do myself. I let my hands fall to my sides, knowing better than to wring them nervously. Though this wasn't exactly a performance, my audience would surely be more captive than even a full opera house, and I felt the fright as if I were on stage for the first time. I took a deep breath, willing my courage not to fail me, despite the churning bubble of hysteria still present in my stomach…_I had to get this right._ Three hearts hung in the balance and two of them deserved the whole truth, no matter how painful, but nobody else would die because of me.

I turned to Raoul, "After my father died, and I came here as a young girl, a voice came to me in my sadness. It was a voice that stayed with me for many years, and taught me many things." I decided to start at the beginning, wanting to clarify to myself as well as to him. The words tumbled out too quickly, and I didn't like the sound of my voice, it was low and uncertain, wavering a little too much, and I already felt breathless.

I concentrated on speaking a bit slower. "I believed this to be the angel of music that my father promised to send," I smiled at the memory before continuing, "and that you heard him mention often in our youth." I glanced nervously at my angel, hoping this exposure of his lie did not upset him, did not unleash his anger. His brow was inflexible, his jaw severely set. _Please, please understand, and bear with me a few moments longer._

"The night of my performance…" I swallowed hard, my throat was dry and the shuddering sound it made was audible in the eerie silence. "I was overcome by the exhilaration…by the adoration and applause, but mostly I sought the solace of the chapel, of my father…" I dared not check to see if he was, indeed, bearing with me, "and of my teacher, my angel of music." I realized that I was fidgeting nervously with my hands, not remembering them moving from my sides. I heard the small gasp escape him, the tiny sound gave me strength to continue. "I returned to my dressing room, overwhelmed again by the countless, inexplicable number of flowers, the clamor of the many voices outside the door, and the beautiful, flawless single rose." I did look at him this time; his expression yielded no emotion, his eyes sat cold and empty.

I turned again to face Raoul. "Then, suddenly, you were there, my childhood friend. You remembered me, and the time we shared with my father." I couldn't help smiling again at the thought of my father. "The shock was great; another wonder in that night of amazing wonders, but then you insisted that we leave to dine. I told you no, but you wouldn't listen." I cast my eyes at the ground, not wanting to look at either of them at the moment. "I told you that my teacher was strict, that he would be angry… and he was." I finished in a breathless whisper, remembering the echoing, booming way his voice had sounded. "And for the first time, he appeared to me as well." I did not want to tell Raoul about what had happened next; that was not his secret to know, but I looked at my angel, hoping my feelings about it would be conveyed in my look, in the eyes he could search so deeply. Still he showed no trace of emotion. He stood fixed and elegant, and if it hadn't been for the small gasp earlier, I would have doubted that he was even listening. I wasn't sure I had accurately described how my head had been spinning, and my heart a whirlwind, with so many new things, emotions and people, and that had all been before I went through the mirror. Everything after that was dreamlike and surreal. Only brief, clear fragments came, and always when I least expected it. It was as if my mind could not hold this last and greatest of wonders.

Even the man who had come with Raoul was listening intently to my soliloquy. But now would come the bare bones of my betrayal…both counts. I looked nervously at my angel, but after no acknowledgement, began again with the truth. "I was afraid after that night…" Still no changes in the cold, statue-like expression, but his fists were now clenched tightly. I sighed, preoccupied now by his gravity.

My hands were shaking slightly. I closed my eyes to gather my thoughts before continuing, but as soon as I did I saw the image of the man, twitching and jerking as he swung from the rope, gasping for the breath that wouldn't come. "And then Buquet died. I was more frightened than I had ever been." I stopped, swallowing shakily. "I turned to my friend for safety and for comfort." His eyes narrowed slightly at the mention, creasing his brow. I wanted him to look at me, to see the fear was no longer there, but he stoically refused. I turned to look into Raoul's eyes, wanting to warn him that what came next would not be pleasant. "I see now that it was a foolish reaction. I let your presence lull me into a… sense of security… it was unfair to you." My eyes were betraying me. The unwelcome sting of tears was threatening. I grieved for the way he refused to look at me, and how much we had lost because of my actions that night, but not so much for the hurt I was likely to cause Raoul. That last thought spilled the tears…my lack of foresight, compassion and humanity. I felt as guilty and ashamed as if I'd been caught stealing.

"You said your words would warm and calm me, and they did; but only briefly." I sniffled and wiped away a few tears. "The things I said to you had a calming effect as well, but I did not realize then how false that calm would prove to be every day after saying them." He was stunned by the admission, and by my awkward gasps while speaking through the sobs. He reached out for my hand, but I backed away as he closed his eyes against the painful truth. When he opened them, I saw the series of emotion that passed; hurt, disbelief, acceptance, resentment and fury.

I saw the glint of madness, and the shimmer of anger, but I never expected him to act on it. He pulled his sword and lunged simultaneously. The act was just clumsy enough that he caught everyone off guard. I recovered from the shock in time to scream, but by then his sword was pointed at my angel's heart.

ERIK…..

My words had made her shiver…_had I been wrong about her feelings and fears evolving?_ She had used tender words for him, showering him with knowing, secret smiles. She saved the tense, awkward, and sidelong glances for me. It seemed she wasn't as sure as she professed, she couldn't help but cry as she told him of her lies. _Were they lies?_

She imagined that I came to her, that I revealed my hideous self after all these years because I was angry about him. She didn't know…couldn't comprehend the months of planning that had gone into that night. _Oh, Christine…we were so close to the heaven we deserve._ I could feel the despair…thick, heavy waves, as black and dense as oil, which sometimes consumed me. They robbed me of my confidence and left me wallowing in self pity and disgust. She had seen it once before, the evidence of my madness. It was the result of my early years, my mother's hatred of me, the muddy, filthy sewer of a cage that had been my home for years with the gypsies, and the raucous, laughing faces of even the children at my suffering.

It took every ounce of the strength I had built up over the following years to stand and appear unaffected by her words and her looks. I was suffocating with the effort, but I did not want to lose myself to the insanity of my anguish while her safety was in question. _Fight it…just a little longer…fight it for her. _

I bit my lip, again, and this time the wound opened from the continual force of restraint. I had to get her to safety. He was unpredictable in his wounded desperation and the enormous blow to his ego. If they had to take me, so be it, as long I was assured she was unharmed.

I inched forward, and with dull predictability, he rounded on me. His movements were clumsy and rushed, but his sword was where I wanted it, trained on me. Her scream helped pull me a bit further from the dark pit I had been falling into; it sharpened my focus, at least for the moment.

He had been trained by a master, no doubt, but he had probably never had to fight for his life. I was confident I could overtake him, but I had to change the dynamic of the situation. His thuggish companion came behind me, roughly throwing his arm around my neck so that his elbow was on my throat. I had to suppress a smile at how much that actually helped.

Just then he spoke, his voice oozed arrogance. "This is what happens, Christine, when you toy with the emotions of men…and…and…" he was sputtering angrily, struggling to find the right word. It was embarrassing.

I decided to help him out, "beasts…demons…devils…freaks… creatures…let me know when you hear one to your liking." I chanced a look at her, certain the other two were focused solely on me. She was shaking, her once beautiful fingernails in her mouth, and the tears were trailing slowly down her face. I could not risk trying to convey that I was perfectly safe, that I was playing with them.

He nodded to the man holding me, a signal of sorts, because the grip around my throat tightened and he forced me to bend at the knee, lowering myself. The Viscount lowered his sword and stepped closer to me, his eyes accusing, yet fearful.

"Shall we see, Christine, what he hides behind the mask?" He turned to look at her, and seemed rallied by her fear.

"No!" She yelled. The sound was excruciating. She ran over, trying to stand between us. "Please don't…don't do this." _Oh, Christine, I'm enduring this to protect you…_

"Let's just see what you have chosen over me." His cold sneer was back, his eyes were wild now. He pushed her aside, and her eyes found mine. She was afraid for me, and maybe afraid of seeing once again just how repulsive I really was.

"GO!" I stared forcefully at her, my intent clear on my face. "Go…you know where."

He laughed, an offensive, frantic laugh. He had what he wanted; she was of no consequence to him at the moment. She was moving slowly towards the door, too slowly.

"Are you afraid to let her see?" He taunted, cautiously moving closer to me. His caution was founded, and soon I would show him just how much. "Will we find a monster?"

"Adversity makes men, and prosperity makes monsters." I said, with as much acid in my tone as I could. She was almost at the door, and soon it would be over. I returned my gaze to him, not surprisingly, he looked confused. "It's a very fitting quote from our famous countryman…shall I explain to you what it means?"

She was through the door, and he was far from in a defensive position. I chuckled…this would be too easy.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Special thanks to SaVrAiNoiR for her help and ideas for these next few chapters.**

I gripped his arm tight and sprung up quickly. The man behind me was much shorter and fatter, and therefore unable to maintain a good hold as he was pulled upwards. His feet were off the ground, and his sizable stomach wobbled disgustingly against my back. Once we were up, and he was off balance it was only a matter of momentum. I swung forcefully around, holding tight to his arm until the last instant, when I released my grip, heaving my shoulder and he was thrown into the Viscount, but not before he let out a heavy and revolting breath as he sailed past my face.

The fat one landed on the ground, panting. The Viscount was unsteady, faltering, but still upright as he tried to regain control of his sword. I rushed over to him, ducking away from the flailing blade, more cautious than usual. I was a formidable fighter, fearless and cunning, but he was driven almost mad by jealously…and that heightened anyone's skill because it made them completely unpredictable.

He was jealous of me? _He was jealous of me. _ The thought was so foreign it wouldn't sink in. It was the second time I had realized that, but this was different…better. This wasn't unfounded envy, she no longer wanted him. Could she want to be with me? How the tables had turned in the course of an hour. I suddenly forgot about him, my mind thrown back to a crystal clear vision of her face as I leaned in to kiss her. I had been so close to the perfection of her mouth, the consuming warmth that would be her kiss. _Was she mine at last?_

If she was, and I prayed that she was, I would cherish every moment. I would not waste the precious time with her as he had done. I would take her to see all the sights of Paris…they would be so much more beautiful with her at my side, the Jardin des Tuileries, The Arc de Triomphe, and my personal favorite, Notre Dame. She so loved to leave the opera house. I would take her on moonlit picnics, and- I was too distracted to see the sword in time, I moved as I caught the oncoming glint of steel from the corner of my eye, but it found a mark. The pain in my shoulder was searing, almost blinding for a brief instant, but I had suffered much worse, and he hadn't hit anything vital. How could he have missed? I had been entirely distracted and I should be dead or dying right now. Surely it wasn't luck, that particular phenomenon was never on my side. That only left lack of skill, I should have guessed as much.

In one rapid movement I removed the blade from my shoulder and wrenched the entire sword from his hand. He hadn't expected that, only someone who was mad would grab the sharp end of the blade…he had no idea about madness or pain. The gash it left on my palm was deep, but I deserved it for my lack of attention. He took a step back, realizing he was at my mercy. I held up the sword, and looked to make sure the other was still on the ground. I hadn't been inattentive too long, he still lay panting where he had fallen. He was even more pathetic than Buquet.

"Leave or die…that is still your choice," I reminded him casually. "But if I let you live, you will not seek her out, and you will hunt for me no longer. Is that understood?" I could see his mind working, his arrogance refusing to believe he had not only been bested, by an opponent lacking a weapon no less, but was now being forced to take orders. "You try my patience, make your choice."

He continued to look at me, still not believing himself to be in this predicament, and maybe not believing I would go through with my threat. A surge of pure hatred came fast upon me, and though I had wanted nothing more than to kill him for days, I resisted for her sake. "You have no idea how hard I am fighting myself right now…I will kill you, let there be no mistake about that."

"She can't possibly want a life with you." He said, no longer sneering. "Why would she choose that, a life of total darkness and shadows?" His hollow, broken tone was back. He was over the rage, and suffered now from her loss. I could almost pity him…but not quite.

His words stung because they were true. I would never let him see how that affected me though. "Light makes shadows, they don't exist in total darkness …and you have less than five seconds to make your choice." I said, coolly. That one, seemingly insignificant question was threatening to bring back the despair I had tried to dispel. I had been able to keep it at bay behind a fragile wall while my sanity was needed, but now it was crawling back, and I knew from experience I did not have long.

"Promise you will not murder anyone else here, and I will leave you be. If I see that she is well, I will also leave her be." It was the best offer I would get from him._ She couldn't possibly want a life with me. _I couldn't let myself get upset at his renewed superiority, and the regal tone he had adopted once again. I was in a hurry to leave this place. I nodded in accord, and he turned to leave, not bothering to help his fallen comrade.

CHRISTINE…

How could I have left him there? What if they killed him? I turned and went back up a few stairs. What unspeakable things were they doing to him up there? It was unthinkable. What good would I be if I went back? I would only serve as a distraction. I paused, and then went back down the stairs. He had finally looked at me, but possibly for the last time. I turned, once again to mount the stairs, but the memory of his look halted me.

He had not been afraid. It seemed the opposite actually. There was no alarm in his voice as he told me to go. He said it with authority, but not fear. Maybe he was trying to be brave so I would leave and not see what hellish things men did to each other to inflict pain. My head ached now more than it did before I began my confession. I had to trust him, believe he knew what he was doing. The bubble of hysteria was back.

He seems very strong, probably able to fight well. _Don't think about that._ With difficulty, I turned my thoughts to less distressing ones about him, to settle my mind before I could run back up the stairs again. I wasn't sure why he had refused to look at me, or show any emotion or expression but that last…_not last_… parting look had been meaningful somehow. He was trying to tell me something. I couldn't help picturing the striking quality of his movements, the ready, elegant way he held his body in defense of me, the incredible color of his eyes, and his penetrating stare. He really was breathtaking.

He had said I knew where to go. I could only assume he would meet me there. I headed down another flight of stairs. Could he mean the chapel? If he was on the run that would be the first place Raoul would look, but maybe Raoul was-no. I couldn't think about that either.

I needed to calm down and think. _Think, Christine…where would he tell you to go? _Could he expect me to find the cavern again? How many twists and turns had there been? The thought of being in a long, dark tunnel without him sent an unpleasant shiver up my spine. And the disturbing look on his face when I mentioned going there earlier…he had said no. It was a look that clearly said the subject was not open for discussion. Surely not, he could not have meant for me to go there. I'd been over this already…I only remembered the mirror and the boat, and there had been a horse. What good was that mem- wait! Something clicked in my brain. The mirror! He had meant the mirror, I was certain of it.

I ran down the remaining flights of stairs, and directly through the backstage area, looking in every corner, searching desperately, until at last I saw her.

"Meg!" I called out to her as I approached. True to her upbringing, she was at the ballet bar. She looked up as she heard the harried sound of my voice. "Thank God I found you." I had to bend slightly, my hand on my side, to catch my breath and relieve the stitch from running.

"Christine," she gasped as she saw me, and as I glanced at the large mirror behind the bar I knew why. My face was red from the exertion, my eyes wide with determination and purpose and my hair was flying wildly about my head. I tried to smooth it into place a little as I waited to catch my breath.

"Sorry to startle you." I gulped a large breath of air now that my lungs were willing to accept it. "I need your help." It wasn't a question, I knew she wouldn't refuse.

"Sure…anything," She nodded reassuringly. I explained that I needed to get into Carlotta's dressing room alone for a while. I told her a little lie that I had left something very important in there for the brief time that it was mine. She knew how much Carlotta disliked me, and was more than willing. I wanted to run there, but how would I explain that to her? Instead we walked at her leisurely and frustratingly slow pace. I hid around the corner while Meg knocked on the door. When the whiny Diva answered Meg astounded me with her ability to lie. She told a convincing tale, and Carlotta grabbed a robe and hurried from the room. Meg took a step to follow, then turned and whispered, "I can guarantee you thirty minutes…good luck." Then she winked conspiratorially. I made a mental note to sit her down and tell her the truth as soon as I could.

Once inside I ran to the enormous mirror, watching my manic reflection approach. I stood before the secret gateway, splayed my hands on the glass and whispered, "Angel?" There was no response. It was eerily similar to the past few days. I slid down the glass and sat on the floor to wait. Being back in this room felt strange, it hardly looked the same, her things were so grand and tacky, and the heavy scent of perfume and chocolate was nauseating. There was a very large portrait of her on the wall next to the door, staring down at me with clear disdain.

Now in the quiet, with nothing to do but wait, I could no longer contain the fear. What were they doing to him? I couldn't let myself picture it…my stomach was unsteady, lurching, but I wasn't sure if there was room for nausea next to the hysteria. _He's okay…he isn't hurt. _But if everything was okay, why wasn't he here?

ERIK…

I made it to a tunnel before collapsing to the floor. _You're better than this—you can fight this._ The suffocating feeling was back. The thick, heavy substance was settling in my brain, trapping the hopelessness and misery inside. My rational thoughts were scattering to the dark corners soon to be held cowering prisoners by the steely will of my despair. _Not now—not when I need to go to her-you can fight this._

My hand was bleeding heavily. I must certainly be leaving a trail for anyone to follow, anyone brave enough. _Hounded out by everyone… _I removed my cravat and wrapped it tightly around my palm. The wound needed to be sewn, but this would help slow the bleeding for now.

She would be waiting at the mirror. I had to go there and see for myself that she was safe. _She can't possibly want a life with you._ It was true, certainly the truest thing he had ever said. If my own mother had not wanted me in her life, how could my exquisite angel? I am a despicable creature…he knew it…everyone knew it. _Met with hatred everywhere_…

There was a stinging sensation on my lip, and when my tongue touched the spot I had bitten I tasted the salty tears. I hadn't realized I was crying, but now my eyes felt hot and itchy.

_Don't let her see you like this- not again._ But I had to see her, know that he had kept his word and did not find her. I had to go to the mirror. I rose unsteadily, and reached out to brace myself on the wall. My shoulder was slow to rise, aching dully, and my hand burned painfully as I rested it on the wall. With a pang of regret I realized it was my bow hand. I would have to sew it carefully if I planned to ever play the violin again. I looked at the raised sores on my fingers, the oozing reminders of my composing frenzy, a different kind of madness, and figured it was best to take a few days off from the instruments anyways.

Seeping in along with the madness and despair was fatigue. How many days had it been since I'd slept? Was it only this morning that I realized I had been composing for three days straight? Is it possible that it had only been hours since I had seen her laughing in the corridor? We had shared that laugh together, her wonderful laugh, and the delicate way she had tried to hide it. She had wanted to speak to me, admit she'd made a mistake. He certainly had been a mistake…not nearly good enough for her…_neither are you_. But I wanted her. _When have you ever gotten something that you wanted? Remember the last time?_ She had only seen it briefly…I had fought it back until she was safely above. But she hadn't called for me after that. _No kind words from anyone…_

I made my way along the passage, trying to reconcile myself to the fact that I had no choice but to bring her below with me._ Why is this happing now? ...because she can't possibly want a life with you. _I wanted to just see her, know all was well and send her back to her room until I was certain I could fully compose myself_. _He had given me his word, but what good was that? I didn't trust him. I would have to watch and listen to him closely for a few days to know if he was genuine. He had just lost both prizes, Christine for himself, and me for the gallows. Will he still presume to give orders in my opera house, dare disregard my every instruction? Now we will see the value of his promise. He had proven that he was no gentleman, and I would keep her with me until I was sure of his intent.

I heard the soft sound of her weeping before I saw her, just like the first time. _Fight it—you can fight it—you must be strong for her- you must fight it._ Even the raging, pulsing anger was better than the desolation; at least I could hold it better in check. There could be a sort of detachment with anger, a strength of spirit and self control. Anything was better than the sniveling, soul bearing, weakness of despair.

CHRISTINE….

The thirty minutes Meg had promised were almost certainly at an end. Still I heard nothing from beyond the glass. Maybe he had only meant for me to be in a safe place so I could not be found. Maybe he didn't realize this place would be anything but safe if Carlotta found me here. I couldn't help looking at her portrait again, she was laughing at me, leering mockingly down at me, reminding me of his unwillingness to even look at me. The moments before the would-be kiss and his plea for me to leave the roof were the only times he had looked at me with any sort of kindness in days…or was it more like weeks? The memory of the many severe looks, the coldness of his stony face, the deep furrow of his brow and scowl, the tightness in his eyes and jaw all came back to me. The unsettled hysteria bubbled stronger, seizing my stomach and my throat.

I swallowed hard and closed my eyes in concentration, refusing to be sick. I took deep, calming breaths to steady my nerves as I usually did before going onstage. This was no time to panic. It didn't work as well as I had hoped, but I turned away from her portrait and put my ear to the glass, hoping this time it would be different, that I would hear something.

Would he leave me here without knowing what had happened? My stomach heaved again wretchedly as I thought about the possibility of why he hadn't come._ He is safe…he is okay._ I had to believe that, believe somehow I would know if he was not. This thought brought the sound I was so anxious to hear.

Muffled, unsteady footsteps were coming closer in the passageway. "Angel?" I called, knowing it was unnecessary, he would be able to see me from the other side. From the opposite side of the room I heard sounds as well. The high shrill sound of Carlotta's angry shouts and Meg's softer, placating apologies. "Thank you, Meg, I owe you one." I whispered into the air.


	11. Chapter 11

My heart was beating so fast, and there was an unmistakable flush creeping uncomfortably up my neck and spreading onto my face. The anticipation of seeing him was stronger than it had been at any time during these past few days. Now that my whirling carousel of feelings was exposed, I realized how very much I had to atone for.

He seemed a man of extremes, from his talents to his anger and his sadness, every emotion displayed so powerfully in his expression, and in that amazing voice. I wanted to know the reasons for his unyielding behavior recently, but even more than that, I wanted to know that he was safe. No matter what his expression held now, I had never wanted to see anything more in my short life. An instant of overwhelming relief shook me to the core when I heard the latch slide on the other side of the glass. I snapped out of it quickly though as I heard the rattle of the door handle from across the room.

Thankfully when Carlotta came through the door she was facing Meg, who was behind her, and ranting and complaining while flailing her hands about in an overly dramatic fashion. As the glass from the mirror slid silently, I risked a look back, and saw Meg's eyes widen in shock as she saw the opening and watched as I started to duck through. Then, without warning, all the candles in the room were extinguished in the same moment, exactly as they had been the last time I stood here. Yes, I would definitely have to sit her down and tell her what's been going on; once I managed to figure it all out for myself.

His strong hand gently closed over mine as he guided me through, but I was denied even a glimpse him. It was total darkness on this side of the glass as well. There were no candelabras glittering off the stones as there had been before, and he carried no torch. The scene this time didn't seem nearly as dreamlike and magical, but it occurred to me that despite my inability to see anything, I felt quite safe. The tingling shivers were on the back of my neck, and the comforting warmness that meant he was near enveloped me.

"Are you all right?" My voice cracked slightly from the strange mixture of relief and alarm. Though so far he seemed fine, I couldn't see if he bore any injuries.

I was starting to feel a little angry, now that the worry had diminished and I knew he was alive. I hadn't expected Raoul's behavior; I had thought him more of a gentleman. Though if I let myself probe deeper I would recall that I had asked my angel to hide from him because I was afraid. Had I thought Raoul would merely try to take him into custody? I certainly hadn't expected the taunting. And I had found out to my cost how he reacts when his mask is removed. But I knew what else my angel was capable of; maybe it was Raoul I really feared for, not wanting another life to be taken. That was a sobering thought. Was he…were we fugitives from justice? I was having difficulty stringing two coherent thoughts together. These ramblings were less important right now than the pressing issue of what had happened after I had departed on his command.

"I am," Came his crisp reply. But as he spoke I noted that his breathing was measured and his voice had a wavering quality to it that seemed very unnatural for him, but oddly familiar.

"And…Raoul?" I was suddenly afraid to know the answer. I swallowed to quell the hysteria that just refused to leave me alone. It didn't help, but I swallowed deliberately again just to be sure.

"You're hope is that I spared him for you?" This time the uneven quality of his voice was worse. I had expected more crispness or anger or coldness, not this…this…whatever this other tone was.

"No, Angel," I said softly, not entirely sure what to make of him, and reminding me very much of the way I had spoken to him when I was a child seeking reassurance. "My hope is that you spared him for you—so maybe they won't—won't come after you." I finished nervously.

"Erik." He said sharply, it was more of a bark than a word.

"Angel, I don't under-" I started to say, but was cut off by the sound of his shout.

"I AM NOT AN ANGEL!" It echoed so loudly in the confined space that I jumped, and let out a small startled yelp. Something scurried past, anxious to be away from the noise.

"It was a lie—all a lie—not an angel—the devil's child," he was no longer shouting, it was a heartbreakingly strangled sobbing sound, "Erik—the devil's child." I could feel his hand starting to tremble.

Two very different and distinct thoughts occurred to me at nearly the same time. First, he definitely wasn't okay. What could they have possibly done to him to cause this, to rob him of his natural poise and confidence? And second, he just told me his name. Of course he must have a birth name, how had I never realized that? I stopped and turned towards him, reaching out to take his other hand in mind. It took a moment to find it in the darkness, and when my fingers found the fabric of his sleeve he flinched, jerking away. Something else scuttled past, or maybe it was the same one, ruffling the hem of my cloak. The hysteria seized my stomach once again and I moved a little closer to him.

"Tell me what happened on the roof." I once again adopted the childlike tone, swallowing my fear for the moment. My pulse was speeding up, and the shivers on my neck were no longer the comforting ones I was used to. They were the shivers one would normally get when afraid and while sharing a place that was much too dark with things that scurried past. His breathing was becoming shallow and I felt him tense. Too many moments passed without any response.

"Erik, a-are you okay?" I asked, trying to hide my rising panic, but a part of me rejoiced at this new piece of information. It felt so strange to call him that. Strange but good and welcome, like when the right word eludes you, sits on the tip of your tongue, watching you struggle to find it, laughing at the inadequacy of the other words you try but they just don't quite fit, and then you finally do find it, the right word, and it's perfect, making what you wanted to say that much better.

Despite my growing concerns and the unwelcome fear that was settling in, I couldn't help smiling to myself. Something in his countenance changed with my question. Though I couldn't see him, I felt his body straighten and his breathing became more sturdy and even. And then the voice was back, deep and rich and wonderful and steady.

"Come, but stay close to me." He said brusquely, gripping my hand tighter and moving forward. It didn't answer my question, but I was relieved to be back on familiar ground with him.

He had no trouble navigating in the dark. How many times had he been through these tunnels? Once in a while he would lead me away from something unseen, or we would walk along the far wall for a short time before eventually returning to this side. I wanted to know what we were skirting around, but not enough to ask and risk either the anger or the…whatever else that was. I also heard more scratching and scampering than I was comfortable with, but I knew better than to say anything. The longer we walked the more squeaking and scratching I heard around us. I was trying not to react, but every now and then I couldn't quite repress a shudder.

In the distance I could hear the slapping, wet sounds of water as it met the stones. Could rats swim?

ERIK…..

She was coming with me willingly, and she was safe. _She can't possibly want a life with you._ And she had called me by my name._ Only after you screamed at her! _Shivers ran over my body at the very sound of it, so right passing over the soft sweetness of her lips. Nobody had called me that in too many years, and now it was only for her.

I squeezed her hand a little tighter, savoring its warmth and the thin delicate feel of her fingers. There were no trap doors to steer by for another forty paces, so I let my fingers come away from the side wall of the tunnel, not needing the guidance for the moment, and clutched the small container bobbing reassuringly against my chest. For the moment it was not a reminder of her betrayal, but a charm…a talisman of what could be.

The hope did not last long, it never did. As I released the tiny vessel I felt the damp stickiness as it fell back to its resting place. The rag on my hand was soaking wet with blood, dripping and making a scarlet mess of everything. Damn! It was definitely the reason there were more rats than usual. I could feel her distaste of the creatures, but though I could easily light any number of torches along the wall, I wanted to preserve the darkness for as long as possible._ Why would she choose a life of total darkness?_ Light was another of my enemies, but now more so than ever. What would she think when she saw the blood that was surely on my shirt, and God only knows where else? Would she run screaming? Where was there for her to run to? She was with me now by choice, but she would have to remain with me for a while, whether she wanted to or not. Then I would have to leave her and return above to see what that insolent, pretentious, conceited mongrel was up to.

She would see the state of me eventually, it was inevitable. I sighed heavily at the thought. I always wanted to look proper, my very best for her…and now I am certain I look a gory mess. With a crashing wave of horrible truth I realized that was the disguise, not the mask. The mask was real, the horrible, repulsiveness of me was real, the doubt and despair were real, the never ending anger was real. Everything else was an illusion…the clothes, the confidence, the bravery, a future with Christine.

Without thinking I clenched both fists tightly to fight the burning sting of tears. One hand gushed with the force, sending an audible splat to the floor, the other crushed her tiny fingers causing her to wince and cry out. _Oh God, now you've hurt her. _"I'm sorry." I whispered, dropping her hand, and hoping she couldn't detect the tears. I hadn't planned to speak at all, not trusting my voice, but the situation definitely called for an apology.

I could feel her eyes on me, the intense chocolate stare I would not be able to turn away from could I see it. Then to my amazement, I felt her small fingers against mine, drawing them out slowly before intertwining with them gracefully. Her hand was shaking as much as my own. _Oh, Christine…_

I shook my head, trying to fight for sanity. She was afraid for me, of me, and of the darkness…the darkness in the tunnel and in my soul. _How could she possibly want a life with you? _She tried again to find my other hand, but I could not let her touch it. I did not fear the pain of having the wound touched, but I feared rather her disgust at the filth of it. I moved my arm away again, but tried not to flinch as I had done before.

"Ang—Erik," She stammered softly, "Please tell me what happened to you." The pleading way she asked could not be refused.

My rational thoughts were yelling at me to take her in my arms and comfort her, tell her all would be well, but those thoughts were still prisoners to the darker, more disturbing ones who were insisting that all would never be well.

"He is unharmed. We came to a sort of gentleman's agreement." I offered. Maintaining an even and steady tone was near impossible.

"He is no gentleman!" I smiled slightly at the indignant way she said it. I wanted to tell her how true that was, but any more normal speech was not yet possible. "But I'm not asking about him…I am asking about you." There was resolve in her voice, as well as concern.

"I am—I have a cut on my other hand." My throat was still tight. She had to sense, had to able to hear my weakness. I had no choice but to continue. I cleared my throat and inhaled as quietly as I could. "We are approaching the stairs, mind your step and stay close." It was so much easier to give instruction than to answer her questions…there were never simple answers to her questions, and she did not need to know the truth of my madness.

The stairs were slow going, though she was light footed, but there were a fair amount of rodents about and I did not want her to trip. Towards the bottom she stumbled slightly, but recovered gracefully after placing her empty hand on my arm to steady herself. The scorching heat of her touch penetrated my coat and spread over my entire body, almost causing me to stumble as well. I had touched her, but she had never reciprocated other than for support. _No compassion anywhere…_

Once at the bottom, she broke her concentration and began again with the questions. "Other than the wound on your hand you are well?" How could I possibly explain how very unwell I was?

"I am very tired," I said truthfully. The many sleepless nights, the loss of blood and the mental exhaustion of trying to appear normal, trying to be sane for her were all weighing heavily.

"We near the gondola, I will guide you in and then you must sit immediately." She did as I asked, then I lit the lamp to the rear of the boat, knowing it would provide some light, but that if she turned I would only be visible in shadow.


	12. Chapter 12

Pushing the gondola off was a greater challenge than I had anticipated. My shoulder would hardly lift now, and the pole needed both hands to be guided properly. I tried unsuccessfully to stifle a groan as I pushed away from the landing, and felt the boat sway dangerously as she turned aggressively in her seat.

"You're hurt. Is it your hand—let me help" She said fervently. The worry I could detect was heartwarming, _and so undeserved._

The idea of her needing to help me with this mundane task plunged my spirit and my masculinity deeper into hell. _Down once more to the dungeon of my black despair… _I closed my eyes tightly, willing my strength to hold out a little longer. With a falsely determined conviction I answered her. "The initial push was the tough part," I bit my lip again, opening the wound and tasting blood. Great, more blood. "I am okay now," It was almost true. "It would be a great help if you would let me hear you sing."

She obliged my request, singing Think of Me, though I honestly think she would have preferred to help me steer the boat. Not only would that have been emasculating, but she would have to stand here in front of me, my arms practically draped over her for that to work, and I simply didn't trust myself in this state.

It was the longest this ride had ever taken. _Down that path into darkness deep as hell…_ The pole was so slippery with the blood from my hand constantly flexing to grip it that it was nearly impossible to make the turns without recanting and asking for her help. But her angelic voice helped pulled me through the task. More than once I closed my eyes to savor the serenity of her song, only to find us very near the wall when I opened them again. I was incapable of even one disparaging thought while she sang, the sound filled me with such awe, but when she finished there were many, all converging on the idea that I in no way deserved this angel sitting before me.

With painstaking slowness we rounded the final bend and sailed through the portcullis. There were only a few candles burning, I had lit them all to give this dungeon a warm, welcome glow the last time I had brought her here, but I needed much less light when I was here alone. _You're always here alone. _With a last agonizing push I propelled the craft onto the rock. Before it had fully stopped she leapt out and turned to face me.

"Oh my God!" she gasped. It was better than the scream I had braced myself for. "Let me help you." She said, her voice rising in alarm as she neared the boat, holding out her hand. The sight only served to increase my misery. _She detests the sight of you. You were never fit to be seen._ I already knew that. "Give me your hand." Her voice cracked, but it did not weaken the command.

I held out my hand to her, unhappy to see how much it was shaking. She took it firmly in hers and I marveled at her strength as she pulled me to the shore. "Sit." She said, still shakily, but there was no cracking this time. She had such an intoxicating voice, and I was too exhausted to argue, so I sat.

She knelt beside me, careful not to touch any part of me to keep herself steady. She reached for the injured hand, but once I realized her intent I set about unwrapping it myself. She exhaled softly, seemingly resigned to let me do it.

"The blood on your shirt—is there a wound there as well?" It was a tremulous whisper, barely audible amidst the lapping sounds of the lake. I knew the reason for her fear, a deep wound beneath the stain would almost certainly be fatal. I turned to face her just as her eyes closed, pushing tears down cheeks that had already seen far too many at my expense.

"No." I whispered in return. I was readying myself to elaborate, tell her it was merely a stain from my hand, but the relief on her face caused my heart to leap so forcefully that I expected to feel the tiny bottle shudder. Once again I was rendered speechless.

She opened her eyes then, staggering me even further with their unmistakable look of remorse. I could only stare, confused at her sudden change of emotion, uncertain of what else to do, but steeling myself for the worst. Slowly the warring sides of my mind united briefly, telling me to leave, get as far away from her as possible before I did or said anything unforgivable._ What does it matter? She couldn't possibly want a life with you._ I moved to stand, trying to use only my good arm to steady myself on the slippery rock, but she reached out and forcefully grabbed my other wrist. The pain to my shoulder was jarring, and a muffled groan slipped out. I had endured so much worse and never uttered a sound from pain, and I cursed myself now for having been so unprepared in front of her. She was probably relishing in my pain and my weakness, but I couldn't force myself to look.

"Wh—where are you going?" This time it was a frightened wail, quickly followed by a softer, mewling sound. "I'm sorry," And then even softer pleading, "Don't go." Finally, she cleared her throat and said matter-of-factly, ""We need to clean and dress your hand."

I returned to a seated position, not wanting to stay, but even less eager to go. She was correct; this needed to be done before anything else.

CHRISTINE….

For reasons known only to him, he didn't want to answer my questions, but for now that could wait. He was hurt, more injured than he cared to tell me, but I knew. There was blood smeared on his mask and face, but I was fairly certain that was from his hand. There was a small cut on his lip that was bleeding, and the center of his shirt was dark crimson, but he had alleviated my fears about that. In the faint light I couldn't see if there was blood on his dark suit, but was willing to guess there would be. I was unsure if his wounds were the cause of his change in behavior, but they needed to be properly tended without delay.

He finished unwrapping his hand, having to pull firmly in places where the blood had congealed, causing the makeshift bandage to stick. To my horror, I had to turn away. The recent unsettled state of my stomach returned with force and it lurched uncomfortably at the sight. I knew I lacked the fortitude to be any type of nurse, I had difficulty just wrapping my blistered toes from ballet, and I'd had years of practice.

I heard a swishing, splashing sound, indicating he was cleansing his hand in the lake. I wasn't sure how suitable the lake was for this, but it was certainly better than nothing. When I looked back he was studying the wound intensely, tracing it with the finger from his other hand, and flexing and releasing, as if to make sure it still worked properly. I also noticed the blisters on many of his fingers, they were fairly fresh, not yet scabbed over or calloused. With aching sadness I realized how many things he must use his hands for, so much more than I did. He was an artist and a craftsman, relying solely on his hands to do the things he loved. He had such a far away look on his face, he must surely realize this as well.

"It must be sewn." He said, more to himself than to me, while trying to stand. This time I did not pull him back, I had no idea what to do and obviously he did. It was the deepest wound I had ever seen. Not a cut as I was used to, but a gaping lesion that bled every time he moved. I rose to follow, not sure if he even remembered I was there.

"Tell me where to find the things you need and I'll get them." I offered, my voice not nearly as steady as I wished it to be. He looked down at me, his brow creased as if he was surprised to see me there. This lost, far away look was even worse than the cold, formal scrutiny from earlier.

"No…stay." It wasn't angry and it wasn't kind, it was just so flat and automatic. He turned and disappeared into the darkness, leaving me standing alone by the lake. The only light was here in this sort of antechamber and there was one candle visible on the massive pipe organ. Draping and tapestries still covered the stone of the walls as I remembered, some drawings were affixed here and there, and there was sheet music almost everywhere that I could see in the muted illumination. What had he called it that night, his kingdom of music? No…that wasn't quite right. I closed my eyes, trying to remember what he had sung so lovingly about this place. An image came, hazier than preferred, but amazing none the less. _The seat of sweet music's throne, this kingdom where all must pay homage to music… _that is what he had called his home. It was by no means traditional, but this was his home, this cavern so deep beneath the opera house, filled with artistry and music and wonder. Could it someday be my home too?

I could feel the heat rise on my face from that last, unsolicited thought. "What are you thinking about?" I jumped at the sound, though he had said it in a low and uncertain voice, as if the answer would be upsetting.

Lying would be wrong, but the truth wasn't possible either. I settled for a lesser version of the truth. "The last time," I said meekly, and turned to concentrate on what he was carrying to speed up the retreat of the blush I could still feel. He had a bottle of something that didn't look medicinal, a glass, a small box and a clean, white rag. He rested everything on the small table, and drew up one of the chairs. He seemed surprised when I drew the other one next to him, but I figured he would need my help. I swallowed back the nausea as I thought of sewing flesh the same way one would darn a sock or mend a hem.

"You shouldn't watch," He said, as if reading my thoughts, pouring some of the liquid from the bottle into the small glass. He stared at the beverage for a long moment, then swiftly picked it up and drank it in one loud gulp. Immediately his face contorted into a grimace that was almost comical it was so exaggerated. He shook his head vigorously trying to rid himself of the taste, and I had to smile at the routine, it seemed so normal, something I wasn't used to when it came to him. He wasn't looking at me, but he must have sensed my question as he poured another glass. "Absinthe," he offered, making a disgusted gagging sound while removing a needle and thread from the box, then dropping them in the glass with the offending liquid. "It is made from wormwood." He continued flatly, as if I had some idea of what that meant.

He picked up the bottle for a third time, and turned his back to me. Was he planning to drink more of it? Why would someone drink something that obviously tasted so awful? But then I heard his sharp intake of breath at the same time as I heard the liquid splash on the stone floor. Every muscle in his back tightened as he poured the absinthe over the wound. I wanted to help, to do something besides sit here and watch him suffer, I wanted to kiss his hand and tell him everything would be okay. More than that, I wanted him to tell me that everything would be okay.

He turned back, his face much paler than a moment ago. "Are you all right?" I felt compelled to ask, but guilty for seeking his reassurance.

His biting remark was far from reassuring. "Do you really need to ask?"

It was all I could do to keep from crying. My efforts were in vain though, for a moment later the strong smell of alcohol wafted up so forcefully that it made my eyes water, and stung the back of my throat when I breathed. I coughed loudly and stood, wanting to get away from the burning smell and from him.

"Christine," it was a strangled sob that tugged at my heart. He swallowed several times before managing to say, "Stay…I'm—I'm sorry."

I took a few deep breaths of clean, unpolluted air before returning to my chair. Of course I would stay.

The situation begged action, or words at least, but both would be best. "What can I do to help?" I said cheerily, but inwardly hoping I wouldn't faint at the task. As he pulled the needle and thread from the glass, I closed my eyes and inhaled quickly before the smell could burn my throat again. When I opened them he was already stitching, wincing, but trying very hard not to, every time the needle pierced his skin.

"Could you hold it steady?" He asked, nodding down at his hand. I could see how much he hated having to ask for help, but I was honored that he had. I took his hand in mine, not immune to the incredible warmth or strength of it, and used one of mine to hold his fingers out flat and the other I placed firmly on his wrist. This seemed to help, at least he was no longer flinching.

"I could sew, if that makes it easier." I said to fill the silence, hoping he wouldn't agree. "But I'm not very good at it." I followed, truthfully.

"I know," He teased, and there was a playful glint in his eye. I had to concentrate very hard not to squeeze his hand. Instead I smiled at the lighthearted moment, desperately not wanting it to end. "But I am finished now." He said, as easily as if we were once again in the chapel for a lesson. I looked down at his palm, and sure enough there was a perfectly straight line of tiny black stitches. I removed the hand holding his wrist and traced the line very lightly with my finger. Without thinking I dropped my head and lightly kissed the newly sewn skin. I could feel the shudder ripple through his body, and I didn't care that the alcohol was making my eyes tear again. Being so delighted with his response, I kissed his blistered fingertips as well.

I could feel his eyes on me, and it was familiar and comforting. I wasn't ready to release his hand yet, or see his face, this was the hand he had rested so gently on my cheek as we were about to kiss. When I finally found the courage to look at him I was glad that I did. He wore such an expression of wonder, his brow and jaw were completely relaxed, his mouth was open slightly and his eyes were wide. It was a look that would have seemed boyish on another face, but it seemed perfect on his.

He moved, slowly as if not wanting to break the spell of the moment. He cleared his throat, then stood and began to remove his jacket. Anyone else would struggle slightly to remove a jacket with one hand, but this was not the case. I barely had time to ponder why he would be removing it when suddenly it was off in one fluid movement. And then I saw why.

The entire shoulder of his shirt was scarlet, with darker smears and spatters down the sleeve. I must have looked as horrified as I felt because he said nervously, "There is a small stab wound on my shoulder." Then he turned away, back towards the table. "Christine…" His tortured whisper was more of a sob, "I didn't want—never wanted you to see me—not like this." He continued, stepping around the table. This was the unsteady, wavering voice from the tunnel, and I knew at any moment that it could be followed by his sudden anger. It had to have been brought on by the look on my face. I would have to be more careful about that.

I knew instinctively he wasn't just talking about the wounds and the blood; he was referring to this darker, desperate part of him. He was still, his head hung, his shoulders slumped, awaiting some kind of disapproval or judgment from me. "But I need to see you like this," I said, again bringing back the serene tone from my youth. "You know me so well, and I don't really know you—only what you let me see…" I stepped towards him, noticing he wasn't as still as I thought, he was trembling slightly. "But things have changed now, and I want to know all of you."

He turned quickly, whipping around and glaring fiercely at me. I had expected it though, and I braced myself, knowing that shortly he would regret whatever he said, agonizing over an apology. Is this…him like this…something I could get used to? Even knowing I would have to watch out for it everyday?

Yes.


	13. Chapter 13

"That is very noble of you, child," There was a sharp and disturbing edge to his tone. "Very brave indeed," He added, his voice now laced with sarcasm.

I waited patiently for him to finish, but I didn't like the way he had said "child". It wasn't meant as an endearment, but as an insult, as if I was too young to realize what I was saying, or know what I wanted. I supposed I had to forgive him that, I had been hopelessly weak minded lately. I continued to wait, not wanting my own anger to get the better of me, and hoping I had figured him out correctly. Maybe this anger would last longer that it had previously.

He was still glaring at me, some of the fierceness gone, but certainly not all. I wanted to look away, the blood on his mask and face were so intimidating, but it seemed important that I didn't, so, uncomfortably I held his gaze. If it became a battle of wills I would surely lose, and I wanted to tend to his shoulder, get him cleaned up, then maybe some food.

This last idea was so out of place that I wanted to laugh, but I didn't dare. I didn't even know what our prospects were for eating down here, and I didn't really care. I found my thoughts wandering to the events of the past few days. I could hardly find even a shred of the feeling that had caused me to mislead Raoul, and myself, so unjustly. The fear was gone…well, almost gone, and the romantic idea of Raoul sweeping me away to once again be part of a loving family seemed a little bit silly now. Not silly that I wanted those things, just silly that I let myself think I wanted them with him. Even now I think of him as some black hearted villain but he was really just trying to protect me from the person everyone else saw as the villain…and murderer. Regardless, I didn't want those things with Raoul anymore, and they both knew it.

I hoped he couldn't see the turn my thoughts had taken as he continued to scrutinize me so intensely. He had sneeringly called me a child, and I had been just that a few days ago, but was I still? Was this another fantasy I was letting myself get wrapped into without taking the time to think it through? I didn't think so, but if I couldn't trust my own judgment, how could he?

I had to break the stare, this meeting of gazes was never what I had intended and he wouldn't be the first to look away, I knew that now. I took a shallow and calming breath, then tore myself away, and looked out towards the lake…waiting, and cringing at what he might say to that. I listened closely to the sound of his breathing; it had been my only and faithful guide in the darkness of the tunnel.

"You have nothing more to say? There is nothing you would like to add… to this demon you wish to know so well?" His voice was menacingly low and rough.

I just shook my head, without turning to look. I could imagine very well the icy stare and the iron jaw. Anything I said now would be twisted and maligned by him, and I had no desire to see my fragile emotions juggled about by him for amusement.

"Can we just take care of your shoulder?" I asked, surprised by my willful tone. I hadn't meant to meet his mood, but I was starting to get a little annoyed.

"Is that what you want? Because I don't think you have any idea of what you really want." I couldn't stop myself from turning to look at him, and I regretted it at once.

There was a sneer on his face that I could only describe as dangerous, and his eyes weren't icy as I had expected, but burning with outright hostility. Now I felt my temper starting to rise as well. I looked away again, before he could see how much his words affected me. Yes, I wanted to do something about the wound on his shoulder, even if it meant the horrible stinging burn of the alcohol again. Dealing with that would most certainly be easier than anything else right now. Both prospects made me equally as queasy.

"Yes," I said, my voice tightened slightly from the strain of keeping it level. He made a strange gesture, clutching the center of his shirt, grabbing the spot where the stain was. Only then did he take his eyes from me, closing them as he held tightly to the bloody fabric. It seemed such an odd thing to do, and I realized with a jolt that was most likely how the stain had gotten there in the first place. Why would he grab his shirt like that, making a fist over his heart? I watched his face closely, taking the time to study it now that the vice like grip of his gaze no longer tormented me. Whatever he was doing, it was soothing him. Maybe not quite calming him, his jaw was still severely set, the muscle flexing with the effort, but his eyes had lost a little of the tightness and his breathing was unguarded.

ERIK….

_You saw the looks she gave him on the roof…you saw the remorse when she realized your shirt was stained from your hand and nothing more…you know she couldn't possibly want a life with you…and you know she doesn't really want to know you. _But I want her sentiments to be genuine; genuine and free from pity. Nothing has changed now! She says many things, and probably means none of them. She is young, maybe too young, and she cannot possibly understand that I am a troubled man, an intemperate and dangerous beast of a man. She misses her teacher, nothing more.

Again, though, she was right about the shoulder. The longer it went unattended, the greater the risk of infection and debilitating fever. I had to clean the wound, and then I need to write and deliver a note to Antoinette making arrangements for Christine, before I could finally sleep. I reached for the tiny bottle without thinking, realizing too late that she would see, but once I felt it through the damp cloth I couldn't help closing my eyes and remembering the beauty that it had been, the once perfect symbol of my love.

When I opened them she was looking at me with curiosity, but she turned her head quickly, hoping I wouldn't see. I had no wish to explain myself or my actions to her at the moment. I set about undoing the buttons on my waistcoat, using just the one hand so I didn't have to bend and flex the injured one. Once I shrugged it off I laid it over the back of the chair on top of my jacket, hearing but choosing not to ponder her small gasp of surprise. Removing further clothing in her presence was out of the question, I would not subject her to that, so I gathered a handful of fabric just below the cut and pulled firmly, effectively tearing the sleeve from my shirt with ease.

The gash was small in size, but deep I knew from the slowness of the muscle to react to my unspoken commands. It would heal, slowly if I spared it use, and take much longer if I didn't, but that was out of the question as well. She was watching me anxiously, biting away at her thumbnail, looking so childlike in the oversized cloak. There were times when I would find the look endearing, but this was not one of them. The sight of her like this served to remind me how very weak I had been, letting this tiny creature cause so much pain and anguish. _Whose fault is that? You have always known she couldn't possibly want a life with you._

"Stop biting your nails, Christine." I snapped harshly, as if I were, indeed speaking to an errant child.

She was angry now too, and trying not to let me see. Good, anger was so much easier to take than the tears.

"I am not a child," she protested defiantly. Oh, but she was. I ignored that and turned to the table, gathering the bottle of absinthe and the rag, pouring the liquid onto the cloth and inwardly bracing myself for the searing sting. I contemplated taking a drink from the bottle, but decided against it. I barely had my wits about me now, being intoxicated would only make the voices worse.

I pressed my lips together tightly and swallowed hard to keep any sounds of discomfort from escaping as I brought the rag to the wound. From the corner of my eye I saw her wince, her body absorbing the movement mine so fervently wanted to make, but was not allowed to. As I pulled the needle and thread from the glass once more, she took a hesitant step towards me, clearly intent on helping.

"No." I said warningly at her approach. The intimate feel of her touch would only be my undoing this time. The memory of her lips on my hand and the stimulating feel of my responsive shudder filled my head, and I wavered weakly for a moment. Her words drew me away from the pleasant and disturbing recollection.

"Please, let me help you." I wasn't quite the pleading tone that rendered me helpless, there was more aggression in it, making her easier to deny. I welcomed the throbbing as the needle entered my skin, and continued closing the cut, assuming my silence and my ongoing task would be answer enough for her, and it was. She did not speak even as I tied the final knot and severed the thread. When I looked at her again, her face showed the restraint of unspoken thoughts.

"Speak your mind, Christine. You are trapped here with me for the time being, and your next chance to do so is uncertain." _You only think you want to know… she won't say the words you long to hear._ Some of the fight seemed to have left her, she looked unsure, her frown deepening at my words.

"I – I want to go back – back to the way it was before," She stammered slightly, then swallowed before continuing, "I want to forget – erase these past few days." She spoke as if it would be easiest thing in the world to do, but I was incapable of forgetting. How often had I tried to forget her? And I needed to be able to forget her, sometimes I felt like the sound of her voice or the mention of her name was pain enough to end my life. _You know very well that death will be your only salvation from her._

CHRISTINE….

Despite my attempt at the opposite, he was growing angrier with every word, causing me to question my choice of sentiments. I had expected him to get less angry as time passed, not more so. I could never be as eloquent as he was, but I had to keep trying. "Is it possible to start over, from the night I came here before… when you sang to me of nighttime and dark—"

"Lies live in darkness—fear and secrets live in darkness, Christine – that is not a world meant for you." He snapped, a horrible dark look clouding his face. I flinched, drawing back from the aggression in his tone and that horrible look, but he took a step closer, closing the gap slowly, lithely, like a predator moving in on its prey. His gaze was so uncomfortable, but I could not look away. "Is this what you think you want – what you let me believe you want?" He raged, his beautiful voice resonating in the small space between us. He took the final step, suddenly clasping both of my arms with strong angry fingers and pulling me toward him, stopping only when we were mere inches apart. The look in his eyes was primal, almost punishing and his fingers were biting into my flesh, but it didn't matter. My heart was pounding so furiously I felt dizzy and I knew that even if he wasn't pulling me I would move towards him of my own volition, be helplessly drawn to him. Even in this angry state there was something powerfully magnetic about him. I lowered my gaze and my eyes sought his mouth, his perfect carved lips, the small crimson spot glistening where he had bitten it, and I wanted more than anything for him to kiss me. I didn't care about this sudden violence, or his unforgiving touch …all I cared about in that moment was feeling his lips on mine.

I heard the change in his breathing, and looked once again to his eyes. All of the ferocity was gone, replaced by a look of outright shame. I had been waiting and hoping for this change of mood, this departure from his anger and cruelty, but not now! I heard the deep ragged breath, a precursor of what was to come, and I didn't want to delay. His fingers had loosened on my arms, and I moved my hand up to his face, pulling him slightly towards me, giving him the chance to resist, but hoping fiercely that he wouldn't. His breath was coming fast and shallow now, I could feel it on my own lips, sending shivering sparks down my spine. He pulled away a fraction, stricken with horror by my actions or his own, I knew not which, and looked at me with glistening eyes full of question and disbelief. I moved closer, remembering the feeling from earlier, still desperately wanting to take away the disbelief, now craving the cool certainty I had seen there so often tonight. I brushed his lips with my own, the lightest of caresses, and though his response was tentative, he did not pull away. I could sense his uncertainty as I pressed more firmly, losing myself in the warmth and softness of his lips. His kiss was almost anxious at first, his lips trembling slightly as they moved on mine. Without realizing when it had happened, his enthusiasm soon matched my own, the timidity gone, replaced by something deeper and more urgent. There was a pulsing heat emanating from his lips, drawing the breath from me, making my head spin delightfully.

I pulled away, needing to breathe, but suddenly too shy to look at him. I fixed my eyes on the table, needing a focal point that wasn't him. A moment later his voice emerged as a whisper, "Christine…" though soft, it was steady and even. My heart was still racing, and now it was overjoyed at the prospect that my angel was back. I felt the familiar sensation of his eyes on me, but was still afraid to meet them. He placed a finger under my chin and gently lifted it until our eyes were almost level. I looked at him finally, so glad that I did. He wore an expression of awe, beautiful and so undeniably pure. He closed his eyes in a long pensive blink, and when he opened them, they were searching, darting from one side of my face to the other, looking to see if I had any regret, eager for my reaction. I wasn't sure exactly what he would see in my expression, but I knew it wasn't regret.


	14. Chapter 14

The very persistent, almost clinging smell from the alcohol rose, stinging my nose and resting in the back of my throat. Quickly and very tightly I closed my eyes before they could water and give him the chance to mistake it for tears, thankful my body had shut out it effects until now. I didn't want anything to overshadow the enormity and power of that kiss, for that's exactly what it was…powerful. I didn't feel giddy and silly like some of the ballet corps girls who had just enjoyed her first kiss. That's how it had been with Raoul, sweet and silly. This was not silly; the power of it had left me with new and incredible feelings ...a deeper stirring...a darker longing. The force behind this realization made me glad my eyes were closed, I wasn't sure I wanted him to see those things. He seemed so fragile right now, my angel, and it was strange and sad to think of him like that.

In the very back of my mind I remembered he had asked me a question before pulling me roughly to him, but I couldn't find it, couldn't quite draw it forward to see what it was. He had been caught up in the throes of something sinister and dangerous then, so I supposed it no longer mattered. I didn't want to ask, or say anything at all, clearly recalling that my own words had seemed to set him off. His eyes now begged forgiveness, but I would let him speak the words, afraid and unwilling to set him off again.

"Can you ever forgive me?" He asked uneasily, his gaze sad though unflinching. A lesser person would have looked away from shame or for fear of seeing an unwanted response, but he did not. My palm still rested on his cheek, and I began rubbing my thumb slowly over his skin, marveling at the heat seeping slowly into my fingers. Of course I could forgive him. I nodded, hoping it was enough, feeling that words would be inadequate anyways at the moment, and not wanting to cry yet again.

He cleared his throat and placed his palm on top of mine, squeezing lightly before saying, "I should change my shirt," gesturing to the stain on the front. It seemed such an unexpected thing to say right then, almost intrusive with so many other things that needed to be said, but I quickly realized that almost everything he said was unexpected.

"And wash your face as well." I risked saying playfully, hoping to further lighten the mood. He didn't seem to take the suggestion in the spirit it was meant. The hand that was resting on mine pulled both from his face while the other hand flew to his mask. It appeared that tonight I was incapable of saying the right thing. The sad realization that this was a person I hardly knew, that I had in fact always seen only the side of him he allowed to be seen, came at me almost with a vengeance. When I voiced that sentiment earlier, I had not been fully aware of just how true it was. Tonight his demons had escaped from whatever carefully controlled place he hid them, and he was ashamed that I had borne witness to it.

A very small part of me wanted to run away from it all, just dance and sing and do what the other girls did. But deep down I knew I had never been like them, and when they had shunned me or things hadn't gone my way at a rehearsal or during a performance, he was the one whose comfort I sought, whose guidance I yearned for. He had always been there for me when I needed him, well until recently. And it was only a very small part, really, that wanted to run, the rest so very badly wanted to stay.

There was a lump in my throat I found difficult, and loud, to swallow over, a product of the unlikely combination of restrained tears and that relentless malodorous burn. I didn't think I could speak, even if I wanted to, which I didn't. Instead I raised the hand still enclosed in his, and lightly kissed the tips of his fingers. One side of his mouth lifted in a sad sort of half smile, and he moved our joined hands up to his lips, then turned them over and softly kissed the inside of my wrist, then my palm, then my fingertips, and finally the same spot on my wrist, leaving a fiery trail in his wake. This small gesture seemed just as intimate as the kiss we had shared. The rush of blood it evoked was instant; surely he could feel it as his lips lingered over the spot.

He cleared his throat again, the sound a bit huskier this time, and motioned for me sit. "I won't be but a moment," He whispered, then turned and disappeared into the darkness once more. He had the most elegant movements of anyone I had ever seen.

I moved towards the table, but the horrible wafting smell from the bottle grew stronger with each step, reeking havoc on my throat. It was odd that I hadn't tasted it on him, something that strong, and just to be sure, I licked my bottom lip. There was something entirely new there, but not at all unpleasant. It was fresh, like clean teeth, but also slightly bitter or tart, like… unripe fruit. I bit lightly and pulled the lip inside, wanting to taste it again, running my teeth and tongue over it to extract every last bit of the flavor. Maybe that was his natural taste; I would have to compare it the next time. I grinned at the thought and felt the slow heat rise on my face.

The liquid in the bottle was clear, but in the glass it was pink from the needle and thread – from his blood. The knowledge that I was responsible for all of it abruptly pushed aside the grin and the blush, leaving anger at myself in its place. My change in mood seemed as mercurial as his had been tonight, well…maybe a little less severe. A slightly hysterical giggle almost escaped at the thought, but I caught it in time, or it stuck to the lump. I didn't know where he was, but I was quick enough to realize the sound would carry far in the silence here.

He returned on the heels of that thought, looking clean and refreshed in a crisp new shirt exactly the ghostly shade of his now clean mask. Usually there was a fair amount of black, or more recently crimson, covering and separating the whites, but the simplicity of this, the starkness and lack of formality was stunning. I couldn't stop looking, knowing it was unladylike, rude even, but I was helplessly drawn to the sight of him. I felt the heat start again at the base of my neck; still I could not turn away. Whether he noticed or not, I wasn't sure. He moved towards the shadows of the space, just outside the glow from the candles. His absence this time was brief, only seconds before he returned bearing parchment, ink and pen.

Outside the realm of our lessons, I was discovering him to be a man of few words. He didn't seem upset, or even unwilling to speak, it was more as though he didn't think it necessary. His life here must be one of solitude, and I wondered if he found that lonely. This was only the second time I had seen him since the night Buquet had — since the night on the roof, and he certainly kept his words to a minimum on both occasions. This didn't bode well if I was too apprehensive to talk for fear of upsetting him. But I was curious, and took a step closer as he sat at the table with pen now in hand, though not enough to ask.

Again I had the sense that he could hear my thoughts as he answered my unspoken question. "I am writing a note to Antoinette—Madame Giry. She must make your excuses if there are to be rehearsals tomorrow, and I have asked her to come here and keep you company, there are things I must do and I may be gone for some time." It was said almost as an apology, "but now I must leave to deliver it." He added with a rueful grimace.

"Oh, okay," Was all I could summon to say in response, it came out croaky at best. Did he intend for me to stay here alone, now, while he was gone? I didn't know what was down here, outside of the meager glow from the candlelight. The idea of it brought an unpleasant shiver, a gloomy sort of dread. Not surprisingly, he was attuned to this as well. He folded the note, stood gracefully and came to my side. His arm was raised as if to touch me, but then he seemed to change his mind, and it fell to his side.

"I will not be gone long," He began, changing his mind again and placing a comforting hand on my arm. The spot he touched felt sore under the slight pressure and I was certain there was a bruise there, but I would check while he was gone. "You should try and rest, I know you haven't been sleeping well lately," There was the hint of a twinkle in his eye, and the same sad half grin he had worn a few minuets ago. "I know the timing is not ideal, but it is necessary." He squeezed my arm in reassurance, and I bit my lip to keep from wincing. He loosened his grip and slid his hand over my shoulder and slowly up my neck, sending small, heated waves over the area, until it came to rest just under my jaw, his thumb skimming across my cheek. I leaned into it once again, not sure I could ever fight the urge to do so. "Do not try to leave here, Christine, the tunnels are not safe for you alone." It was said flatly, but there was an unmistakable thread of warning there too.

ERIK….

I hated to leave her, but there was no way around it. She would be better off there than accompanying me, she hated the rats, and if I had let her come it still would have been necessary to leave her alone in the tunnel entrance, just not for as long. I would be quick delivering my request and returning to her. Maybe food was a good idea too; I had been in a music frenzy for days without eating. Any bread I had would be stale, any cheese moldy, and any fruit too soft and brown.

I cursed this task. And I cursed the time I must take to sleep, I did not need much, but I did require some. Both things would take away from the time I wanted to spend with her. I longed to pull her close and hold her all night, feel her against me and kiss her again. I stopped and rested my hand on the wall of the passage for support, surprisingly dazed for a moment. She had kissed me, even after what I had said, what I had done. She should have wanted to slap me, but instead she had kissed me. I closed my eyes to relive the moment, the searing bliss of her kiss, the sweetness of her lips, the way it had shattered the remnants of my depravity in the most fantastic way imaginable. And I no longer had to imagine it, I now owned that memory of her kiss, and it was perfectly and permanently etched in my mind.

But what I had been about to do was unforgivable, despite her assertions otherwise. Maybe it is not such a bad thing that I left; it has given me purpose and required my composure. If I had no business that begged attention I surely would have spent my time seeking her reassurances, but she had seen more than enough weakness and madness. What she needs from me now is strength. So I will do what I must, and not what I want.

I'm sure she has many questions for me, but I am not sure if I will answer all of them, though it is the least she deserves. She will ask her questions to Antoinette, who is the only one I trust with my secrets. She has kept so many for so long that I know she would never say anything she thought would be a betrayal of that confidence. Christine has already gone to her once to gain knowledge and insight about me, and was given only brief, fragmented bits of information. My hope is that I will come to trust Christine as much. With this last thought I reached for the vial around my neck, a habit so ingrained now after so little time. But we had seen much in that short time, my rose and I.

I slid the note under her door, knowing she retired for the evening earlier than most of the girls in her charge. I listened for a moment to see if I could detect footsteps coming to retrieve it, but was met with silence. She would discover it in the morning, and that was good enough, there was no need to disturb her slumber.

As I walked I heard the squeals and giggles coming from behind the doors of some of the older ballet students. Mundane, broken pieces of conversation … showing off new clothing…sneaking glasses of champagne…rivalries with other girls…spending time with men. Christine had never been like that, always so quiet and reserved, except when she was in the chapel, first with the spirit of her father, and then with me. Some of the other girls, most in fact, thought her abnormal, but I had seen the truth. She was different, yes, but that was not a bad thing. She was made for greater things than these petty girls, she was made for glory, to shine and sparkle in front of the footlights, and she was made for me.

Antoinette will bring some things of Christine's with her tomorrow, but I'm just a turn away from her room, maybe I should gather a few necessities for her comfort tonight. She might appreciate something more comfortable to sleep in, definitely a warm cloak of her own. I smiled at the image of her in the overly large one she had borrowed, looking so fragile and lost in the dense folds of the fabric. My sweet, young angel—

Sudden and very acute anger stopped me. He was resting in a chair a few doors down from hers.

He had given me his word! He had promised not to seek her out. An image came at me quick and unbidden…my lasso around his throat, effectively waking him up as all air was restricted from his aching, gasping, shriveling lungs, the fibers from the rope simultaneously tearing into the skin of his throat and burying themselves deep in the leather of my gloves. I gasped for breath myself at the intensity of the image. My hands actually ached with the urge. I took a step back and a few calming breaths, letting my rage recede, reduce from a furious boil to a low simmer, dangerous, but not deadly.

But I had given them both my word and I at least was gentleman enough to keep that word – for now, in effect relegating all violent deaths at my hand to fantasy and overactive imagination.

I had no desire to confront him if the end result wouldn't be his very timely death. No wish to engage myself in droll conversation with him, which was the only conversation he was capable of. He wasn't snoring as her previous guard had been, but the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest told me he was sleeping. I could still slip into her room without waking him, but I decided not to take the chance. Fate had gifted me once over him tonight…why push it?

I pulled the lasso from the inside pocket of my cloak and very gently, but with much restraint, laid it across his lap. I smiled wide, and had to further restrain myself from chuckling. When he woke he would find it there and know that I had seen him…and that he had not seen me. The threat would be obvious, even to him.

I would find him tomorrow and listen to his strategy, predictable thought I'm sure it is, and adapt to it. I took one long, last look at my enemy for now, almost excited at the thought of further combat. The next time I would not allow myself to become foolish and distracted.

I went down to the kitchen to gather a few provisions, still seething at the sight of him, so casually flaunting his presence. I had to let that go before I returned to her…we had things to discuss and I did not want this clouding the atmosphere between us…hadn't she seen enough of this already?


	15. Chapter 15

Before he left me he lit more candles, by the bed, in the washroom and around the organ. It wasn't quite like the fairytale kingdom it had been last time, but that was probably due more to my misty imagination than anything else. The darkness here had a personality of its own, penetrating, trying desperately to encroach on the feeble illumination. It was strange to think of a home never being graced with any natural light, only the flickering semi-darkness provided by candles. It was timeless and romantic in a way, but without him here it was becoming oppressive, almost smothering. I didn't fear the dark, per se, just unknown dark places…like tunnels and caverns.

That nearly drew another hysterical giggle, but I repressed it as I had the other. I would have to get used to this, come to terms with it and embrace it as he had. This he asked of me once before, and I would try not to disappoint as I had then. Without conscious command my eyes wandered to the bed. It jumped out from across the space, straining to be the only object of my attention, was it because he had told me to sleep in his absence, or because I had slept there once before? I wanted to wait for him, here on the shore where the boat would come to rest, but something was drawing me towards the room with the swan. I surrendered to it, not sure what else there was to do and moved slowly up the stairs and past the organ, dragging my fingers over the keys lightly so as not to make any sound.

I passed the spot where I had lain – been thrown – the last time. I remembered my fear and overwhelming shock better than anything else from that night. Had that been a teaser, a taste of his true nature, a glimpse into what it would mean to surrender to his music of the night? No. That couldn't be true; I had know his kindness and his comfort for so long that it seemed wrong to forsake it and let the… angrier side of him prevail.

The steps down held no happy memories… me drawn to him, needing to see behind the mask, him sitting, cowered and pleading. I moved quickly along the path, not quite remembering but having a very unpleasant thrumming somewhere in the back of my mind. It was almost a relief to reach the room, a strange sense of déjà vu greeted me, exactly the opposite feeling of the darkness.

The bed did look soft and welcoming, but it made me uncomfortable to think so, though I didn't know why. I felt weary now that the adrenaline of the past few hours was subsiding, so despite the unease I sat and pulled my legs up over the side. It would be impossible to sleep, I knew, until he returned safely but it couldn't hurt just to close my eyes and rest for a while. I shifted to get comfortable and cringed as I rolled on my arm. I didn't need to look; I was certain there would be long inky marks on my flesh, exactly matching the shape of his fingers. His face as he squeezed those fingers into me came hesitantly into focus, looming and ominous… the fire in his eyes, the angry quivering of his lips, his breath hot on my face. I had wanted his kiss even then, before his inexplicable change. It would have been different, rougher and without the hesitation, but that hadn't stopped me from desiring it, no matter what came after, or what his mood was.

_What came after—_ I sat bolt upright. Some of the girls in the ballet talked about what came after kissing. I had never really considered those things. I knew they were shameful things unless you were married, according to the cursory explanations from Mme. Giry about – well about how babies are made. Meg and I ignored these whispers, not even wanting to know what those girls giggled about, though I think Meg was more curious than she let on. A few years ago one of the girls, Doris I think, had been poking fun at me; she told me I would always be a virgin. I hadn't seen how that was an insult, Mary was a virgin after all, and I wasn't entirely sure what that meant. I had been upset about it all that day, and my angel had asked me what was wrong during my lesson, but I had thought it sinful to mention, even to an angel... Now I knew why the idea of lying here was uncomfortable.

I jumped hastily from the bed and smoothed the fabrics, wanting to leave no trace of my having lain there. Was he also thinking about what came after kissing? Oh God, that was such an embarrassing idea. I was burning –flushing all over, and suddenly glad he wasn't here to see it. I needed to distract myself, find something else to think about. I turned to leave, return to the room by the lake and sit at the table with the noxious smelling absinthe; maybe if I was gagging and retching my skin would pale a little. I was no longer anxious for his return – at least until I could get my skin color under control.

I hadn't noticed the other furnishings in the room, then or now, until I looked out towards the room and the lake.

There was a large wardrobe dominating the nearest wall, just to the left as one entered. It was a beautiful piece, grand and highly ornate, like so many of his things, and the largest one I had ever seen. I vaguely wondered how he had gotten it down here, surely not in the gondola. I approached it hesitantly, wanting to open it but feeling like I shouldn't invade his privacy, no matter how badly I wanted the distraction. I backed away, trying to dim the curiosity, and looked further around the room. Next to the wardrobe and completely overshadowed by it sat a table covered with the same lush draping as the walls and mirrors. On it stood a small oval mirror on a scrolled stand. It was the only mirror I had seen not covered by fabric. I knew there were many, had seen various corners poking out from behind their shrouds, throwing back the wandering light.

I stepped to mirror, almost afraid of what I would see reflected back at me. I wasn't disappointed. I was a bright red mess – cheeks sticky and streaked, hair wild and frizzy, eyes swollen and bleary. I turned away from the frightful image, glancing down at the table. There sat his mask, the bloody smear dry and growing darker, no longer bright scarlet, now more of a muddied reddish-brown. I picked it up without thinking, surprised at the cool feeling of the porcelain. How many masks did he have? I thought he had cleaned this one, never imagining him having an exact duplicate. But that was silly, of course he did, he wore one every day. Then I remembered some of the busts and statues in the outer room having masks on them, not all like this, some leather and black, some larger, with two eye holes, many with ties. How strange that hadn't registered until now.

I moved in front of the mirror again, with even more hesitation, but oddly compelled to hold the mask over my own face to see what it would look like. It felt so good and cool on my overly heated skin, but the image staring back at me was eerie in the inconstant flickering, other- worldly, and slightly grotesque due to the stain. It was tacky on the inside, is this how he attached it? Was that what he always did, or was that for my benefit, because it had pulled it away from him so easily that night? I would never ask, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

I placed the mask back on the table, careful that it was in its original position, and found myself in front of the wardrobe once again. This time I pulled it open, letting both doors splay wide and gasped in astonishment at the amount of clothing inside. Most people I knew rotated five or six sets of clothes, having one or two for fancy occasions and church. I myself owned six dresses, and considered myself lucky for it. Here were maybe twenty shirts, all white, all pressed to perfection. The trousers and jackets seemed even more numerous, all dark, but not all of them black. Who could possibly wear all these clothes? Neatly hanging on the inside of the doors were cravats in every shade and pattern imaginable, more than enough to wear two with every suit if he wished. This was a person who was hardly ever seen, as far as I knew, and yet his closet could surely rival that of any Marquis in the city.

I could find no trace of the shirt he had removed, obviously he didn't need to clean and mend it with this vast array available to replace it. At the very end of the meticulously hung cloaks a sliver of red stood out vibrantly against the black, even in the inadequate light. I moved them aside to get a better look, feeling slightly guilty as I touched his things. The color came from a beautiful suit, or more of a costume. Top and bottom were both the same dramatic shade of cardinal red, with beautiful gold embroidery and braids adorning the cuffs, collar, tails, front and pockets of the jacket. It was more extravagant than most of the costumes upstairs and entirely more magnificent. And that's exactly how I imagined he would look in it—magnificent. I had no idea when or if her wore this, but I definitely wanted to be there when he did. I put it back in the wardrobe and hid it neatly once again. My face was still red, but now I was blushing even more furiously at the turn my imagination had taken.

"It is a costume of my own design." He said very softly, though he could have shouted in my ear for the shock and upheaval it caused my heart.

I was momentarily too stunned to speak, surprised that somehow I hadn't screamed. My heartbeat was frantic and my face was surely ready to explode. The one good thing, I supposed, is that it covered the blush I had felt at a completely different embarrassment moments ago.

I knew he could throw his voice, make it echo and seem to come from some place other than it originated, but I had no doubt than when I moved the wardrobe door to close it, he would be standing right behind it.

I steeled myself, sighed miserably and closed the door. "I – um –I just – I'm sorry," I stammered, mortified, turning to look at him. Whatever I expected, it wasn't this. He was smirking teasingly, his left eyebrow arched, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Do not make yourself uneasy, Christine." The smirk grew into a lopsided smile as he noticed my expression. "You may look through anything you like." He opened his arms wide in a grand gesture, his smile growing still.

ERIK….

Her expression was so funny that it was hard not to smile. I expected to find her sleeping on my return, but this was better. I hadn't meant to catch her off guard and scare her. Upon seeing her from the gondola, I intentionally made sounds signaling approach, taken heavy footsteps and rustled my cloak, but obviously her mind was otherwise engaged if she heard nothing. What had she been concentrating on…the costume? That didn't seem likely. I had never seen her, or anyone else, quite this red in the face before.

Guessing at her thoughts and motives wasn't as easy as it used to be. That night, the night I had so foolishly revealed myself, had changed everything, but not in the way I had intended. I didn't want to think about that – what I wouldn't do for just one hour free from thoughts that would bring only gravity – I was enjoying this so much more.

"Do you like it?" I decided to probe, see if I could find the reason behind her very appealing color.

She swallowed and nodded, "Yes," Then cast her eyes down towards the floor before adding, "I like it very much." Something about the suit was making her uncomfortable.

"I have a special occasion in mind for it." I offered, trying to think of a place where I could wear the foolish thing, but noticing her change with delight. She smiled, a secret smile meant only for her and though her face really couldn't flush further, her ears and throat darkened as well. I wanted to ask why, it was a strange reaction, and the curiosity was gnawing at me.

"I trust your errand went well?" It was said as a question, meant to change the subject. Her eyes came back to my face, but she wouldn't meet my gaze. I decided not to push it further; this was a relationship walking the very fine line between tears of joy and tears of hate…but there always seemed to be tears. I didn't want to push it over the line with this trivial matter…that would come when I explained the madness.

"It was –" How do I answer without mentioning the enemy? " – uneventful." Not really a lie, nothing had happened…yet. Now it was my turn to steer the conversation in another direction. "You should eat something," I held out my hand, unsure if she would take it. She did, and I led her out, past the organ and into the small kitchen I had carved out for myself.

She looked around in wonder, running her hand over the table and looking at the dishes and serving wear on the shelves.

"You have some very fine things." She observed, sweeping her arm in an all encompassing gesture. I smiled inwardly at the compliment; she meant the furnishings and clothes as well as the plates and crystal. That was me, evil wrapped in elegance.

I put the bread and cheese on a plate and reached for a jar of jam, apricot was her favorite, and I always had it…just in case. I made tea, it was safer than wine right now, and sat to join her. Okay, let's get this over with, I thought wryly. State the obvious – maintain control of the conversation – stay calm and focused – this was the plan I had decided on during my return.

"Christine," she looked up from her plate, her face a delicate pink now. "Please do not be afraid of me – of what you saw earlier." That was a bad beginning, she should be afraid after what I had attempted. I looked directly at her, anxious for reaction. She had the teacup at her lips, but her eyes had widened at the topic.

I cleared my throat and hoped it didn't sound as uncomfortable as it felt. "Sometimes I get carried away…a sort of despair sets in." She had to know that was true, but her expression remained steady, at least what I could see of it. "And during those brief times -" That was understating a bit, brief was unusual, but both times it happened in front of her, that had been the case. " – My thoughts resist every effort of control." I looked down at the bread on her plate. I wanted to know what she was thinking, but I couldn't look just yet.

I heard her cup as she placed it back in the saucer. "How often does it happen?" I could detect only curiosity, no accusation, no fear, and no resentment.

That was a good and fair question, unlike my answer. "Not very – it varies." Vague, I know, but peace between us now was essential with the warning I just gave the petulant obnoxious boy. "I never wanted for you to see that." The truest thing I had said yet, and now I looked up. Her eyes were still too wide, but she smiled at me. It wasn't her full and glorious smile, but it was close, and certainly good enough considering.

Quickly the smile faded and a sad look clouded her eyes. She reached down and took my hand, the injured one, and brought it up to the table. "I hate to see you hurt like this and know I was the cause of it."

I stared at her in amazement. She blamed herself for this? How completely bizarre…this had nothing to do with her.

"The fault for my injuries rests with me alone…I should have emerged from the encounter unscathed," I looked at her earnestly, willing her to see the absolute truth in my belief of this. "But I lost my concentration, became distracted." I admitted, my voice rising unintentionally.

"Yes, but—but you wouldn't have been in that encounter at all—" It was her turn to look down, a regretful frown appearing. "—if it weren't for me." In the most basic sense that was actually true. If she had never betrayed me, none of this week would have been the same. But did that mean it was fair to let her suffer all the blame for it?

If I had know the reason she wanted to see me, I would certainly have been better prepared, most likely bringing her here and not the roof – where he could so easily find us. That thought still rankled.

"I think we have both made mistakes," I responded, reaching out to lift her chin. Her beautiful eyes warmed, and the frown slowly faded. Did she want to kiss me, even half as much as I wanted to kiss her? "What is done is already in the past and cannot be changed." I ran my thumb across her cheek wistfully, thinking about how many things I would change were it possible.

The voices and the chaos they wrought were a distant echo, seeking shelter, biding their time until they could once again descend upon me. For now I was as whole as I had been in weeks, and she was here with me. Could a fresh start be possible, as she had asked? I could never forget, but I could overlook…with effort I restrained myself from reaching for the bottle, I wasn't ready to answer questions about it…not willing to share this secret, at least not right now.


	16. Chapter 16

She was repressing the urge to yawn, demurely, of course, but she couldn't hide it entirely. We both needed sleep, possibly I more than she. She was much younger after all, and uninjured, and not fighting mad voices, and not going on five nights without any. To deny her the comfort of the only bed would be ungentlemanly, but could she lie next to me and feel safe after my barbaric advances earlier? She would be justified in that fear, though that was certainly no longer my intent. Or rather, my mind was no longer possessed in that way.

She was very innocent, or she had been before him. I didn't really know all that had come to pass between them, having been absent for three days. I felt certain she was still ...intact, but anger flowed freely through me as I thought of him touching her, soiling this perfect and pure angel. I would hunt him down regardless of any promises if that were the case.

"I am not afraid of you." She whispered, seemingly in response to my earlier statement. It seemed a fitting way to end the discussion for tonight. She looked sincere, but I could detect apprehension behind her words. Did she sense my anger? I inhaled deeply, but slowly, trying to mask the calming effect I was aiming at.

She was unsuccessful at stifling another yawn, though not for lack of trying. I cleared the plate, knife and tea setting, and placed them in the basin. "You need to rest – " I almost said 'my love', but caught myself just in time. There was no need to frighten her with that just now. I held out my hand to her, and led her through the lair.

Once in the bed chamber I turned to face her, needing her to understand the innocence of what I was about to suggest, if she screamed or slapped me, I would sleep, or try to, on the floor or in a chair. "I speak with the utmost propriety, Christine." I searched her eyes for any sign of fear or distrust. "I have only the one bed, and we are both very tired. It would not be improper for us both to sleep here tonight. I will make other arrangements for future nights if need be." I wasn't sure how long she would need to remain here for her own safety, and she should understand that as well.

Her eyes shifted to the bed then back to mine. Her color deepened slightly, but that was to be expected. It was an act that would be met with reproach under any circumstances, and she cared a lot more about that than I did. She looked hesitant, but nodded once.

"You will sleep in your clothes and cloak and I will sleep in mine." I tried to sound as reassuring as possible. She looked up at me, and I bit back the urge to touch her cheek, stroke my thumb across her bottom lip. Toughing her now would be a very bad idea. "You have my word that my intentions are not sinful." That would be an outright lie on any other occasion.

She nodded again, just tired enough to be resigned to the idea without protest. I showed her to the washroom, suddenly embarrassed by its lack of a door, but then she gasped upon seeing the tub, and I couldn't help a prideful smile as I left to allow her privacy.

I sat at my organ, testing the injured hand. It was stiff, and the fingers moved slower than those on my other hand. Much effort would be required to play to my usual standard, but it would be done, I would not give it choice. After five frustrating minutes at the keys I returned to the bedroom. She was on the bed, wrapped in the ridiculously large cloak, curled on her side. My heart lunged at the sight, catching me off guard. How many times had I thought about her in my bed? This was by no means the same as those vulgar fantasies, but the sight still immobilized me momentarily.

I made my nighttime preparations after blowing out the candles, she may still be awake and this was my attempt at privacy. I didn't need light here, but I felt it a good idea to relight at least one candle lest she wake in the night. My hand was steady, but my blood was coursing and my heart was beating with added urgency. _Stay calm and focused_, I repeated in my head as I closed my eyes. For the first time all evening I was thankful for my state of exhaustion.

I thought about changing my mask to one with ties, but decided they were equally unreliable for sleeping. Usually I just took it off, but there was no need to risk her seeing and shattering this fragile harmony. So there I lay, fully clothed, mask and all, it was almost funny… but I was too tired even to smile. I closed my eyes again and willed sleep to come quickly, to spare me from further inhaling her delightful flowery scent, and end the longing I felt to touch her, wrap her in my arms and run my fingers through her hair…

XXXXXXXXXX

"Angel," My eyes stumbled open at the sound of her voice, my hand darting to make sure my mask was still in place. It took a moment for the rest of my mind to emerge from the haze of sleep, but I realized she was tossing and mumbling, still embraced in the arms of slumber. She had never been a restful sleeper, and I had often enjoyed watching her toss and turn, whispering random words and unstrung phrases from her dreams. Was she dreaming about me? I didn't have time to savor that thought before I felt her move closer, snuggling her head into my chest and sliding her hand over my stomach.

Every muscle in my body went rigid and every nerve awoke with a shuddering tingle. How I wished she was awake and holding me, my mind grabbed the reigns and ran with that thought before I could stop it. I imagined what it would feel like to roll into her embrace, kiss her deeply with a passion still unrealized between us, touch her body without the interfering fabric between us, exploring every inch of her glorious skin.

I felt the change in my breathing as desire over took me. With a Spartan-like discipline I fought it, taking deep breaths and clenching my fists so as not to touch her. She was not awake, and if she woke and found herself like this she would be ashamed and horror struck. As much as I wanted her body, I wanted her soul and her consent as well. I was not capable of a life without loving her, unable to pass even one day without thoughts of her… but would she ever see me as more than a lunatic and a murderer, as worthy of her trust, her love?

She moaned softly, a sleepy, contented sound as she snuggled closer, letting her arm wrap further around me. I was filled with her enthralling scent, my insides burned with fire at her tender touch. This was the most torturous temptation, how could any man resist this? The years of self denial threatened to be my undoing. I always wondered about these urges, but not only was it impossible for a woman to want me in that way (or any way), but no other person had ever roused such strong yearning, the very essence of being a man, as she did.

Desire had only lived in me through fantasy. I had read much, and the fundamentals I understood, a man's needs were carnal and more easily met, but the finer art of meeting a woman's needs I knew nothing of, and was completely unskilled at. Who could want such a beast? Even if a prostitute would have me, which I doubted they would, the very thought was repelling, whores were too dirty. I didn't begrudge them their trade, but the idea of being with someone filthy would crush even the strongest desire. I shuddered at the thought, but it was effective at slowing my heart and regulating my breathing.

I had to move, extricate myself from her embrace before I could do anything stupid and ruin everything. Besides, further sleep was impossible, and I couldn't risk her waking in this position. I moved with ease and caution, not wanting to disturb her. The air was colder away from the heat of her body, and I wondered if that was the reason for her snuggle. She would feel the temperature change even through sleep, so I removed my cloak and placed it over her, hoping it would be enough to keep her warm. I stood there, over her, admiring this most beautiful and dangerous of creatures as she slept.

Would she ever return my feelings for her? Was she even capable after all that she had seen? With him hopefully out of her life, romantically at least, I could probably maintain our previous relationship of teacher and student, but someone else would inevitably come along and take his place. She had said she changed her mind, no second thoughts, but was that true? The pain of that night on the roof, hearing her song to him, was something I could never live through again. I undid the top of my shirt to look at our rose petals…they were fading, turning brown slowly due to lack of air in the tiny vessel, but withered all the same.

There was one small glimmer of hope; she had kissed me, and that kiss came during my darkest time. It had been my first kiss, but not hers…it was odd that someone so innocent could have taken that particular innocence from me. It could be taken as promising, but then again, optimism was against my nature.

CHRISTINE….

Very grudgingly I felt the tendrils of consciousness creeping in. I wasn't ready to wake yet, I was warm, and safe, and happy. It was very quiet, and I could tell it was dark even though my eyes were still closed. As I stretched the sleep from my limbs I realized I wasn't in my own small bed. The memory of last night came back slowly through the cobwebs spun in slumber. He had lain next to me, careful to avoid even the minutest contact, and I had been perfectly still and more than a little anxious, listening carefully to the sound of his breathing.

Once I was certain he had drifted off, I rolled over to look at him. I had only seen the left side of his face, but I knew beyond any doubt that he still wore his mask. His face was more relaxed than I had ever seen it, his jaw, his brow, and his eyes held none of the tightness that persisted during the day. His lips were parted slightly, lips I knew to be softer than they appeared. I remembered having to resist the sudden and forceful urge to kiss him then, sensing it would be dangerous to do so in more ways than one. He was very beautiful that way, seen without the cold formality of the mask, and certainly the horror that lie beneath it. Mme. Giry had told me he was a master at many things; that God had given him multiple talents, and I couldn't help but wonder why God would create such a beautiful and talented man, the drive him half mad with demons and disfigurement.

It was not my place to wonder at God's intentions. But in the next breath I knew that I wanted to be the one to take his sadness away, help stow those demons that seemed to torture him so mercilessly. What was it he used to say to me when I was younger, afraid all the time of the other girls and of showing off the voice that he had so carefully crafted? "Put your fears to purpose Christine, harness it in your voice and in all that you do." I couldn't think of a better piece of advice to begin this day, a new and promising day with him.


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N: I am sorry for the wait between updates. I wish I had a valid excuse besides "I've been busy" but unfortunately, I don't…my sincere apologies._

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As I rose, I noticed he had placed his cloak over me for added warmth, and I couldn't contain my smile. I removed the borrowed one I had been wearing in favor of his, knowing I would need it due to the constant chill down here, and knowing he wouldn't due to the extravagant number of back ups in his wardrobe. It smelled very faintly of roses, a scent I would probably always associate with him.

I could hear voices as I made to leave the washroom, nothing distinct, just garbled bits of conversation. I had to tear my eyes away from his tub and its vast network of pipes and spigots. It was unbelievably large, and I couldn't help imagining myself soaking away the chill in it. As I neared the organ though, I recognized the sharp voice of Mme. Giry.

"Tread carefully there; he is important to us all – even if you're not able to see that right now." I was all too familiar with the reprimanding tone, but I had to grin at her using it on him. She was probably the only one who could walk away from that unscathed, and his stern gaze didn't seem to affect her as much as it did me.

I cleared my throat softly, not wanting to walk in on their conversation unannounced. I was very curious, but I didn't want her reprimanding me for bad manners, especially in front of him. They both looked up at the sound. She smiled warmly at me, and though it was genuine, I could see the tension behind it. He, on the other hand, looked at me nervously and slightly…flushed? Could that be possible?

"Good morning," his voice was an octave higher than usual, now I was really curious what they were talking about. I smiled in response and bowed my head slightly at them both. He walked over and offered his hand to help me down the steps from the dais where the organ was located. I couldn't help but notice he was wearing gloves.

"How is your hand?" I asked, rather more shyly than I meant to, but remembering our talk last night. I looked anxiously to the small table, unwilling to get too near the repulsive smell of the absinth bottle, but all of the paraphernalia from his injury was gone now. In its place sat a satchel with two baguettes poking out the end.

"On the mend," He replied, flexing and releasing his hand a few times to prove his point. His voice was better, but not what I knew it could be. Then he turned back to her and they exchanged a knowing glance. Curiosity was now flaring; I had to bite my lip to keep from asking what they knew that I didn't.

Distantly I wondered how long he planned for me to stay here…or for him to keep me here. I didn't mind, but I remembered only too well how strange and lonely it had felt to be here without him yesterday, and how embarrassingly my mind had wandered. I had touched his things, things that seemed part of a museum collection for their variety, beauty and sheer neatness and precise placement of everything. Today, though, he had provided me with company, and I wanted to put that time to good use, hopefully glean some knowledge about him by asking her things I would never be able to ask him.

He approached me again, buckling his sword at his side. "I am not sure how long I will be away," taking my hand and turning it over to lightly kiss my palm. It was so much more intimate a gesture than the traditional kissing of the fingers or back of the hand. I fought a smile, and a blush, but the fact that he was taking a weapon made me a little uneasy.

There were a few things I wanted to ask…where are you going, exactly?… Why do you need a sword? …Will you promise to be careful? …Do you really need to go? … What are your feelings about the kiss we shared? But they were questions that would never find voice and I would have to be content with that.

Madame Giry seemed sure that would be the end of his goodbye speech. "Come, child, let's get you something to eat." She said in her mothering tone, grabbing the satchel from the table. I didn't turn to follow, not ready to walk away from him quite yet. It was almost easier to talk to him when he was angry, at least then I knew what to expect…snide or not, he would speak the truth about how he felt. Or, more likely, I felt a little braver when I was a little angry myself. Right now we both seemed a bit too shy and embarrassed to say much of anything important.

I wanted to talk more as we had last night, and I wanted to know if the kiss had any effect other than bringing him back to reality. I didn't want polite conversation and another goodbye so soon.

He was leaving though, that much was obvious and somehow, I knew, inevitable. This relationship had always been complicated, even when I was a girl and he was my angel, my teacher, nothing was simple with him. He was demanding to a fault, a perfectionist in all things and only as I grew did I realize there was a passion to every single thing that he did and said. He was intense in a way that even Mme. Giry could never be, but his compassion was as unmatched as his passion at times. And even though our entire history was based upon a lie, his lie, I was now greatly inclined to take everything he said as truth. I only wished that he had more to say. Well, I was sure he had more to say, I just wished that he would actually say them. I felt like I could sit and talk with him for days about everything that had happened between us.

"Hurry back," was all I could manage as he stepped into the gondola. His answering smile was small and weary, and he seemed uncertain, but the looked vanished quickly, replaced by something entirely more stoic.

"All that is mine is yours Christine…please endeavor to make yourself at home here." He called, pushing the boat off the shore. I blushed, knowing he was remembering yesterday. I stayed there at the water's edge until the portcullis began to descend, and then turned to find Mme. Giry.

"I know you have questions for me, but I will not give you one single answer until you have eaten." She called over her shoulder even before I entered the kitchen. This wasn't entirely surprising; she had practically raised me, and certainly knew me better than anyone except maybe for Meg.

Dutifully, I took a seat at the table and poured the tea she had already set out. Moments later she joined me with a plate of bread, croissants, a few small pastries a wedge of cheese, and an assortment of cold meats. I wasn't particularly hungry, but I was eager to speak with her, so selected a few items from the plate and started to eat. I wanted to retrieve the apricot jam from last night, I had seen where he kept it, but that would just waste time and I was willing to make the concession of eating my bread without it today.

After what I considered enough bites of food, I asked my first question, knowing she expected nothing less. "Last night he…well, he seemed to be…struggling with himself…his temperament was…" I wasn't sure how to phrase what I was trying to say, but thankfully, she did.

"There is so much brilliance trapped in his mind, and so many horrors in his past that sometimes it all becomes too much for him." She explained sadly, but as though she had expected the question. "His emotions are exaggerated, he has had an excess of physical and emotional pain and has since spent his life in near solitude." She sighed heavily and lowered her gaze before continuing. "He has never had another person's feelings or needs to consider, he takes what he wants, and does what he wants regardless of the consequences." She said this warily, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of pride there as well.

She looked up at me, then down at my plate, clearly indicating I needed to eat more for her to continue. I nibbled on a croissant as I cast an expectant gaze at her. After three small bites she took another deep breath and continued.

"Deep down he knows the concepts of right and wrong, but he has been shunned from society all his life and as a result he refuses to bow to society's conventions. This has lead to a sort of madness that he battles with." She paused to look directly at me, catching my eyes and refusing to let them go. "He is my…friend, but do not misunderstand that. He is dangerous Christine." She didn't look away and she didn't speak again, as if she was waiting to make sure that I understood what she was telling me. I nodded to show that I had heard her words and fully understood her warning.

"He is obsessive to a fault," Her voice had a hard edge to it, something new for her this morning. "He has lain at your feet this immense and tragic love*, and I do not want to see you destroyed by it." I could tell it hurt her to say this, as if it was a betrayal to him.

I felt the tell tale heat on my face at her mention of his "immense love". The heat slowly spread from my face through the rest of my body at the thought of him having those feelings for me, but I wanted to put her mind at ease, this was not easy for her, having to tell me these things about him. "It may be immense, but I'm the one who has made it tragic, not him." I told her truthfully, unaware of how much she knew about the past week.

I didn't really want to talk about that with her, tell her of my poor choices and betrayals. I had already hurt two people close to me, and had no desire to fall in the eyes of another.

"Tell me more about his past," I said more than asked, but very much wanting to change the direction of the conversation. "He called himself the devil's child…do you know what he meant by that?"

She went on to tell me more about his time with the gypsies, elaborating on the details from the story she had told me after that night on the roof. It was so much sadder hearing it now, heart wrenchingly sad, but I wasn't sure if that was because she was telling me differently, with more detail, or because now I cared more than I had then. I felt the heat again, but this was a different heat, not a blush, but the flush of shame.

"…and because of the years he spent in filthy cages and so many horrible conditions he now has an intense and very severe dislike of being unclean, of anything dirty." I had been too engrossed in my own shame to hear the entire thread of conversation, but this last bit of information caught my attention. It would explain why he needed to change his shirt so soon after we had kissed, it would certainly explain the massive tub, and it would explain the meticulous state of these caverns.

We talked like this until it was almost lunchtime. She told me about how she helped him come to the opera house, of the music he had composed, of some of his more outlandish pranks over the years before I was old enough to know of the opera ghost and finally about him becoming my angel of music. That still didn't sit quite right, the years of lies from them both, but I felt I had a better understanding of it now at least.

We had stayed at the table the entire time, picking at the remnants from breakfast, and neither of us needed lunch now. She rose from her chair, and I felt uneasy as I realized she was preparing to leave.

"I can only leave Meg in charge for so long, I must return to rehearsals now child." I was easier when she called me that, much more endearing from her than from him. I knew she was right; her absence would be questioned if she remained here any longer. I did have one last question though.

"Do you know if I will be returning to rehearsals soon?" I didn't want to sound like I was anxious to leave, but in a way I was. I felt like my fate wasn't my own at the moment and it was unsettling.

"I should think tomorrow or the next day," she smiled sadly as she answered.

ERIK…..

Why was I constantly running away from her now? Was I so afraid that she would again betray me after what she had seen? I would make it up to her, I would be quick about checking on the viscount and then I would return to spend the afternoon with her. The memory of her kiss came back to me, the feel of her lips as soft and as sweet as the petals of a flower. I couldn't help but want more of that, more of her beautiful hands caressing my face. I stopped myself before I thought of the feel of her body against mine last night… no good could come of that right now.

Where would I find the traitorous spurned lover? Could he possibly still be by her room? Is there any chance that I would be that lucky and that he was actually that stupid?

"Ghost! I'm waiting for you… I know you're here!" The drone was coming from inside her room.

Yes, he actually was that stupid. Had he seriously been waiting for me since he woke and found my… gift? He was inside her room… how is such ignorance from him even possible? I had to stop to consider that.

He is the second son, not really in succession for the title which would fall to his brother, the count's son when he was man enough to finally produce one, a legitimate one. So, maybe the viscount was slow, mentally, and his family just didn't want to lock him away. That was the only fitting possibility, because either he didn't fear me or he didn't care…either one was the thought of a complete moron.

I, on the other hand, was not dumb enough to enter a small room with only one means of escape. Though I doubted he had the intelligence to have a trap waiting for me in there, I would not take that chance. He would never catch me unprepared again. He had made it easy enough for me to find him, but where did I want to confront him?

Certainly not the roof; I had seen enough misery there to last a lifetime, and the thought of throwing him off the roof was far too tempting today. The diva's dressing room was probably the best place, either she was at rehearsal or he would have to make up some excuse to get her to leave the room. I actually hoped she was there because then he would have to listen to her squawking and complaining in that grating, jarring, awful voice. I had to cover my mouth to stifle the chuckle.

It took a few moments for me to recover enough from the humor of that vision to adequately control myself to the degree I needed to throw my voice. I breathed deeply and whispered very softly, "Carlotta's dressing room…ten minutes." I wasn't sure where he was standing inside the room, but it was small enough that I was certain the sound of my whisper would be somewhere very close to him. I repressed a chuckle again at the thought of him swatting the air around himself and checking the shadows for the source of the voice. Even he, it seems couldn't ruin my good mood today.

I arrived first, and peered into the room through the mirror. It was empty, well devoid of people anyways. I originally thought to just speak with him from here instead of entering the room, but upon second thought I decided to face him in person. He already must suspect something was odd about this room, not only because it was my choice of meeting places today, but also because he had heard Christine and I in here the night she disappeared. I didn't mind that he was suspicious, but why give him any more indication that I could enter or view the room from another location? Or that it was a possible entrance to my lair? I wasn't sure if he was clever enough to work that out on his own, but decided against taking the chance.

I entered the room and blew out most of the candles, leaving the space with many welcome shadows, and moved to stand near a hideous and ridiculously large vase of flowers that was particularly deep in the gloomy half light. I expected he would be punctual, most of the elite seemed to pride themselves on that, considering it part of their bragging rights. What I didn't expect was for him to come into the room, sword sheathed and hands far away from it, and say amicably, "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

His look was earnest, and only slightly guarded. That was until he glanced around and became seemingly embarrassed that he was talking to himself. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, then stilled as if he had come to some sort of resignation. Without opening his eyes, he started to speak again.

"I think you're probably already here." If he thought that, why would he be standing there, no weapon handy and eyes closed? This couldn't be outright stupidity; even a village half-wit wouldn't display such a complete lack of self preservation.

"I wanted to explain why you saw me outside of Christine's room-" He paused, opened his eyes, and waited a further moment before adding "—face to face." This seemed to be a gesture of trust, good will of sorts, between gentlemen. I had no intention of playing along.

"So, explain." I offered wryly, though without revealing myself. At the sound, he looked around in anticipation, and when I didn't appear he frowned. Unbelievably, he took my lasso from somewhere behind his back and his sword and placed them on the floor directly in front of the door. Then he walked several paces forward, and away from the weapons. It was so odd a gesture that I was momentarily stunned…and people referred to me as mad?

I was not prepared for that, it was entirely unforeseen, and downright astonishing. I had expected this meeting to be tediously uninteresting. I had further expected him to be ill tempered and belligerent, unable to concede. I actually felt almost…cowardly for remaining hidden.

"Well, I agreed that if Christine appeared well, I would not seek you out, but I have to actually see her to judge for myself." He stated, glancing into various corners on the other side of the room. "And you were injured when we last spoke, I didn't know if you were able to get to her." His usual tone of superiority was still absent from his voice, all I could detect was sincerity.

"Your concern is touching," I said with as much malice as I could muster in this slightly bewildered state. "I assure you, she is fine." I wasn't sure why I even added that, especially without any sarcasm. Maybe the genuine interest on his face was a trick of the light, but I had to know. I decided to reveal myself, after fixing a murderous glare in place.

"Thank you," he said simply as I came out from behind the vase. I wasn't sure exactly how to respond to that, so I bowed my head slightly. He looked at me quizzically, perhaps waiting for another response or maybe just sizing me up as competition still.

"She has made her choice, Viscount…you lost." It was only habit that made me say it in such a smug way. He was being nothing less that a gentleman, for perhaps the first time, and it was so unfamiliar to me that I just relied on what I knew well. I didn't trust him, but there was still no need to antagonize him just yet. I wanted to believe he had an ulterior motive for his behavior, something sinister in mind, but he wasn't that good an actor, and I was left feeling he was indeed sincere.

"That is a fact I am well aware of," he looked away, a sort of noble defeat visible in his features. "There is no need for arrogance, I accept her choice. And I apologize for…for earlier…with the mask." Now there was nothing left of the noble set of his features, only concession, and possibly exhaustion.

Hearing those two things together was too much. I couldn't process both at the same time. First, he was calling_ me_ arrogant…_me_. There was no condescension, no accusation; it was simply said as a statement, as if talking about the weather. Then there was the apology, repentant and, in the midst of this bizarre exchange, believable. I had no idea what brought on this sudden change in his behavior, maybe it was the unspoken threat of the lasso, maybe not, but I had no desire to respond to his previous statements.

"Why the sudden change of heart, Viscount?" I made sure just the right amount of sarcasm was present this time. It affected him, more than he was willing to let show, but he couldn't hide the tight creases that formed between his brow or the slight widening of his eyes.

"I told you, I accept her choice." Some of his natural haughtiness crept into his voice, but then he bowed his head again, and ran his fingers through his hair. Was it frustration? Resignation?

"You didn't accept it so easily last night, in fact you acted rather like a spoiled child." The fact that it was true didn't mean I wasn't trying to bait him intentionally. I wanted him to get angry or at least petulant. This was the boy who had almost ruined everything, the person I had wanted so badly to kill, now he seemed…broken. There was no fun in tormenting someone who was already conquered. I would be lying to myself if I said I didn't relate, at least somewhat. Her betrayal had stung deeply, and now the tables were turned and he was the victim. I would be lying further still if I didn't admit that he was handling it much better than I had.

My words had the opposite effect of my intent. He looked even further dejected. "I know." There was no explanation, no defending his words or actions, none of the things I expected from him. He ran his fingers roughly through his hair again, leaving it messy and disheveled and completely out of character for him. He took a shallow breath and let it out shakily before continuing. "I lost control, I know it. I honestly didn't know she had feelings for you, she always seemed so afraid."

He looked away, casting his eyes around the room, but not letting them settle on anything in particular. I wasn't sure if that was the end of his confession or if there was more. I was sure that this was harder for him than he wanted me to know. I watched him closely for a few moments, and when the silence was so awkward I was ready to speak despite having nothing really to say, he took another deep breath and turned back to face me, opening his mouth to speak again.

"It was tearing her apart—having to choose—you saw what it did to her, I know you did. She is the saint here and we are the sinners for putting her through this." He finished softly, looking away again.

Could he really forgive her that easily? Could he put aside his love for her and his anger… his hatred for me because he thought it was the right thing to do, this selfless act of being the bigger man?

I felt completely outside the control of this entire exchange. He had not uttered a single predictable word and what he had offered had been unabashedly honest and true. I couldn't accept the thought that I had misjudged him from the start, but maybe this unexpected behavior came as a result of losing Christine. It seemed I wasn't the only man she had this kind of power over, though again, he found a way to be much more mature about it than I was.

Not that his…blessing, for lack of a better word, was important to me, but I suddenly wanted nothing more than to be with her right now. I wanted to begin again, with the recent past forgotten, or at least stowed away some place where it wouldn't affect our life together. I wanted to end this exchange, as eye opening as it had been.

"You need not worry; I will treat her well, as promised." I was going for a cool and offhand tone, but even I heard the note of gratitude woven in. It is possible he isn't quite as stupid as I originally thought, but if he noticed the unintended thank you in my voice, he hid it well.

"See that you do; I will be checking…and," he looked away for a moment then turned back, but looked at a spot somewhere over my shoulder instead of looking directly at me, "make her happy, she deserves that."

"You have my word on it, viscount." There was nothing left to say, and neither Christine nor Antoinette could fault me for the surprising turn of events. The opera patron and I were certainly not friends, but it seemed we were no longer enemies.

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_* Quote from the original Leroux text._

_A/N I suspect there is only one chapter left, and a few people have asked if the rating would be changed to M. I'm not opposed to that, so if anyone has an opinion about it, please let me know._


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